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iij  S  TRET  TOM  ; 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


ALUMNUS 
BOOK  FUND 


/ 


Hester  MorleVs 


PROMISE. 


BY 


HESBA    STRETTON, 

author  of  ■'  The  Doctifr's  Dilemma"  "  Bede's  Charity,"    Sr-V.,  iVv, 


NEW  YORK  : 
D  0  D  D  ,  M  !-:  A  I )  .t  C  0  M  P  A  X  Y, 


Ai-UMr'" " 


CONTENTS 


5^T 


CHAPTER 

PAGH 

I. 

John  Morley,  Bookseller 

•      7 

II. 

A  Young  Stepmother     . 

12 

III. 

Pastor  and  Deacons  . 

.       19 

IV. 

A  Monomaniac 

29 

V. 

Fleeting  Sunshine     . 

..     ^6 

VI. 

Great  P'olks    .... 

42 

VII. 

Miss  Waldron     .        .        .        . 

.     48 

VIII. 

A  Little  Rift 

5? 

IX. 

New  Hopes  .        .        .        ,        . 

.     ti 

X. 

Sunday  Visitors 

64 

XL 

Deepening  Shadows  . 

.     71 

XII. 

A  Great  Gulf 

.         76 

XIII. 

The  Slough  of  Despond  . 

.     86 

xn. 

Sinners  and  Judges 

90 

XV. 

A  Sunless  Spring-time 

•     96 

006 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XVI.  A  Point  ov  Conscience  .         .         .100 

XVII.  The  Prodigal's  Return     .         .         .108 

XVIII.  A  Blow  in  the  Dark     .         .         .       115 

XIX.     Lawson's  Attic 122 

XX.  A  Budget  of  News          .         .        .       132 

XXI.  His  Only  Enemy         ....   140 

XXII.  A  Prescription         ....       149 

XXIII.  Face  to  Face 155 

XXIV.  Hester's  One  Wish         .        .        .       162 
XXV.  A  Hopeless  Quest      .        .        .        .175 

XXVI.  An  Impossibility      .         .         .         .179 

XXVIT.  Castles  in  the  Air    ....  184 

XXVIII.  A  First  Charge      ....       192 

XXIX.     In  Succession 198 

XXX.  Miss  Waldron's  Counsel       .        .       205 

XXXI.  A  Painful  Discovery         .        .         .212 

XXXII.  Hester's  Sanctuary        .         .         .216 

XXXIII.  A  Perilous  Path         ....  225 

XXXIV.  A  Husband  for  Hester          .        .       236 
XXXV.  Consulting  Carl         .         .         .         .243 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXVI.  How  Could  it  End?       .         .         .       250 

XXXVII.  A  Direct  Effort        .         .         .         .256 

XXXVIII.  Something  more  than  a  Friend  .       262 

XXXIX.  Ten  Years  After       .         .         .         .268 

XL.  Her  Husband's  Heart  .         .        .277 

XLI.  The  Old  Nursery      .         .        .         .283 

XLII.  A  Lesson  for  Hester    .         .         .291 

XLIII.  A  iMuNiFiCENT  Gift    ....  298 

XLIV.  Blow  after  Blow   ....       306 

XLV.  Retribution  Begun     .         .        .         .315 

XLVI.  A  Pastoral  Visit    .         .         .         .       324 

XLVII.  Another  Pastoral  Visit    .        .        .332 

XLVIII.     Heresy 34i 

XLIX.  Out  of  the  Dark      ....  347 

L.  Another  Call         ....       352 

LI.  At  John  Morley's  House         .        .  358 

LII.  On  the  Other  Side        .        •        .364 

LIII.  A  Fruitless  Effort  .        .        .        •  374 

LIV.  Alone  in  London  ....       379 

LV.  Then  and  Now  .         .        .         .         .3^9 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

LVI.  A  Night  of  Terror        .        .        .      394 

LVII.     Besidk  Himself 399 

LVIII.  A  City  of  Refuge          .         .         .       407 

LIX.  Saturday  Night          ...            412 

LX.     No  Clue 420 

LXI.  Another  Hester        .         .         ,            427 

LXn.  Three  Months'  Suspense       .        ,      436 

LXni.     An  Inspiration 442 

LXIV.  In  the  Sunshine     ....       449 

LXV.  What  might  have  been      .        ,        .  460 

LXVI.  Good  News  for  Carl    .        .        .467 

LXVII.     To  Burgundy 474 

LXVIIL  At  Home  Again      .         .        .         .       479 

LXIX.  The  Last  Moment      ....  485 

LXX.  A  Full  Forgiveness       .        .        -493 

LXXI.     Carl's  Hour 498 

LXXII.  Brought  to  Light  ....      504 

LXXIII.  Checkmated        .        .        .        .        c  514 

LXXIV.     Last  Words 521 


CHAPTER   I. 

JOHN    MORLEY,    BOOKSELLER. 

LITTLE  ASTON  is  one  of  those  small  midland  towns, 
lying  in  the  midst  of  an  agricultural  district,  which 
offei-  no  attraction  to  tourists,  and  where  very  few  events 
seem  to  happen.  Every  family  in  it,  even  to  the  lowest 
classes,  possesses  a  staid  respectability  and  decency,  which 
is  chiefly  the  heritage  of  those  who  live  in  isolated  places, 
divided  from  the  busier,  and  perhaps  the  more  wicked, 
world  by  a  girdle  of  corn-fields  and  meadows.  The  popu- 
lation cannot  be  more  than  five  thousand,  which  in  these 
days  constitutes  little  more  than  a  family  party,  whose 
members  must  be  very  closely  allied.  A  large  proportion 
of  the  townspeople  consist  of  professional  men,  and  people 
with  means,  who  keep  up  the  tone  of  its  society.  The 
grosser  vices,  if  there  be  any,  hide  themselves  diligently 
from  the  microscopic  scrutiny  of  the  town.  Murder  has 
never  stained  its  precincts  with  blood  ;  suicide  is  almost 
unheard  of;  intrigue  is  unsuspected.  There  are  scandals, 
but  scandals  of  the  gentler  kind,  such  as  one  might  whisper 
af  one's  own  mother's  son.  From  day  to  day,  and  from 
fear  to  year,  its  narrow  stream  of  life  flows  in  common- 
place channels,  seldom  quickened  into  rougher  and  swifter 
currents.  There  are  births,  deaths,  and  marriages  ;  old 
men  retiring  from  business,  and  young  men  attempting 
small  innovations  ;  but  the  town  of  Little  Aston  is  always 
very  orderly,  and  strictly  respectable. 


8  HESTER    MOKLEY  S    rRO.MlSE. 

Some  years  ago  the  centre  of  respectability  was  the 
Market  Square,  and  to  dwell  elsewhere  was  to  be  a  grade 
or  two  lower  in  society,  and  to  be  inadmissible  to  the  se- 
lecter  circle.  But  the  next  best  place  was  Chapel  Street, 
opening  out  of  the.nortJi-west  corner  of  the  Square.  It 
was  narrow,  and  very  dull,  even  upon  market  days  ;  the 
dullest  street  in  the  town.  The  shops  were  dark  and 
dingy,  and  about  half-way  along  it,  they  gave  place  to 
small,  poor  houses,  built  capriciously,  each  one  of  differ- 
ing height  and  size.  Nearly  at  the  end  stood  a  large  and 
ugly  chapel,  with  a  pretentious  portico,  supported  by  four 
square  pillars  of  red  brick,  and  surmounted  by  a  pediment 
and  architrave  of  blue  and  yellow  tiles.  This  chapel  gave 
its  name  to  the  street. 

A  few  houses  distant  from  the  entrance  into  the 
Square  stood  a  very  old  and  very  dingy  dwelling,  which 
had  undergone  but  little  alteration  from  the  date  of  its 
erection,  a  century  and  a  half  before.  Not  that  there  was 
any  of  the  picturesqueness  of  antiquity  about  it ;  its  aspect 
was  only  gloomy  and  weather-beaten,  the  windows  being 
of  small  panes  of  discolored  glass,  and  its  walls  blackened 
by  smoke  and  age.  The  roof  formed  three  gables,  and 
the  moss  and  house-leek  grew  along  the  gutters,  and 
choked  up  the  water-pipes.  It  was  a  large  building,  occu- 
pying more  basement  than  would  have  sufficed  for  two 
handsome  modern  houses.  It  was  on  the  north  side  of 
the  street,  which  the  sun  never  gladdened,  and  looked  as 
rf  a  perpetual  cloud  overshadowed  it.  Whether  the  gloom 
was  within  or  without  one  could  scarcely  tell.  The  street 
was  narrow,  and  the  side  pavement  exceedingly  so  ;  yet 
the  old  house  thrust  upon  it  two  ancient  bow  windows, 
with  casements  painted  black,  and  small  dark  panes, 
through  which  a  passer-by  with  good  sight  might  decipher 
the  titles  of  long  rows  of  books,  the  bindings  and  lettering 


JOHN    MORLEV,    BOOKSELLER,  9 

of  which  were  faded  by  damp,  rather  than  by  excess  of 
light.  The  books  were  dry,  judged  by  modern  taste. 
They  were  certainly  old,  and  mostly  theological  ;  with  here 
and  there  a  lighter  volume  of  religious  biography.  Latin 
and  Greek  classics  might  have  been  found  among  them 
Between  the  two  windows  was  a  door,  always  closed,  but 
which  rang  a  bell  as  it  opened  ;  and  the  black  lintel  above 
it  bore,  in  dim  and  tarnished  letters,  the  words  "John 
iStorley,  Bookseller."  Within,  the  shop  was  always  dusky, 
partly  because  of  the  books  filling  the  windows  ;  and  partly 
because  of  its  northern  frontage  ;  a  cool  and  pleasant 
shade  in  summer,  but  in  winter  a  very  den  of  chill  and 
darkness.  As  you  opened  the  heaxy  door,  and  entered 
the  shop  to  the  tinkle  of  a  noisy  bell,  John  Morley  himself 
would  step  down  into  it  from  some  apartment  beyond,  and 
meet  you  face  to  face.  It  was  less  like  addressing  a 
tradesman  behind  his  counter,  than  the  meeting  of  friends 
or  acquaintances.  Most  of  his  customers  shook  hands 
with  him. 

At  the  first  glance  it  would  have  been  said  that  John 
Morley  was  a  grave  and  bookish  man  ;  at  the  second,  that 
he  was  solemn  ;  at  the  third,  that  he  was  sorrow-stricken. 
Some  souls  have  a  vast  capacity  for  sorrow,  and  drink  it  in 
as  a  parched  land  drinks  in  water.  There  w'as  no  glimmer 
of  sunshine  about  him  any  more  than  about  his  dwelling. 
Like  it,  he  was  stationed  on  the  northern  side  of  life,  where 
no  laughter  or  splendor  of  sunlight  could  fall  upon  him. 
Involuntarily,  every  voice  was  lowered  to  a  subdued  and 
respectful  tone.'  Not  a  sound  from  the  rest  of  the  premises 
penetrated  to  the  dusky  and  quiet  shop  ;  and  when  John 
Morley  bowed  out  his  customer,  and  closed  the  door  as 
upon  some  departing  guest,  the  little  bell  rang  loudly,  like 
one  jingling  to  the  hard  pull  of  a  schoolboy  in  an  empt} 
house. 

T* 


10  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

Tlie  rest  of  the  dwelling  consisted  of  a  number  of  half- 
furnished  rooms,  with  steps  down  or  steps  up  into  them, 
as  the  fashion  is  in  old  buildings  ;  with  low,  long  case- 
ments, high  and  narrow  doors,  stained  ceilings,  and  half- 
wainscoted  walls.  The  windows  at  the  back  looked  upon 
an  enclose  1  yard,  part  of  which  had,  a  long  time  ago,  been 
planted  as  a  garden.  A  few  melancholy  lilacs  and  lluii 
privet  bushes  still  sucked  a  feeble  life  out  of  the  sooty 
mould,  and  sent  up  slender  black  branches  and  a  handful 
of  pale  leaves,  to  catch  any  stray  sunbeams  which  might 
shine  over  the  surrounding  walls.  There  was  a  rambling 
range  of  outbuildings,  including  a  stable  filled  to  the  rafters 
with  rubbish  ;  above  which  was  a  small  room  with  a  shelv- 
ing roof,  which  was  approached  by  an  outside  staircase. 
A  sad  and  sombre  little  room,  with  dingy  ivy-leaves  grow- 
ing round  the  door,  and  tapping  at  the  dusty  panes  of  its 
lattice  window,  as  if  in  parody  of  ivied  doors  and  windows 
in  the  country.  This  room — nobody  knew  why — bore  the 
name  of  the  nursery ;  though  no  children,  within  the 
memory  of  man,  had  ever  played  in  it. 

About  a  mile  from  Little  Aston  stood  Aston  Court,  a 
handsome,  bran  new,  desirable  family  mansion,  with  pleas- 
ure-grounds, conservatories  and  gardens,  all  surrounded 
by  a  fine,  well-timbered  park.  The  old  Court  had  heen 
bought  and  pulled  down  ten  years  ago  by  David  Waldron, 
Esq.,  M.  P.,  a  famous  man  among  the  dissenters,  and 
naturally  the  great  man  of  the  chapel  at  the  end  of  Chapel 
Street.  The  portico  had  been  bulk  in  honor  of  him.  The 
church  at  Little  Aston — ^by  which  we  mean  that  "  congre- 
gation of  faithful  men"  worshipping  in  the  dissenters' 
chapel — -had  been  small  and  of  no  repute,  before  the  ad- 
vent of  Mr.  Waldron.  It  had  been  looked  upon  as  low 
and  vulgar,  fitted  only  for  the  poorer  classes.  There  had 
been  but  one  member  of  arv  standing,  of  ii.iv  education  or 


JOHN    MORI.KV.    H< '(  iKSKl.I.KR.  II 

learning,  belonging  to  it, — a  man  wlio  had  the  original 
tongues  on  his  Hps  more  aptly  than  the  rector  himself,  and 
wlio  knew  the  whole  origin,  motive,  and  histor\-  of  dissent. 
That  man  was  John  Morle\\ 

If  these  two,  David  Waldron,  M.  P.,  and  John  Morley, 
booksf.-ller,  had  met  each  other  in  the  aisles  of  the  parish 
church,  they  would  have  kept  to  their  own  legitimate 
spheres,  and  been  no  more  to  one  another  than  the  squire 
and  his  tradesman.  But  they  were  brought  together  on 
the  democratic  platform  of  a  church-fellowship,  in  which 
all  the  members  were  professedly  equal.  They  called 
themselves  brethren.  All  the  rest  of  the  brethren  were 
content  to  look  up  to  Mr.  \\'aldron  from  a  long  way  off,  as 
a  brother  far  above  them  ;  and  they  were  quite  willing  that 
he  who  helped  to  rule  the  nation  should  rule  their  church 
absolutely.  But  John  Morley  was  a  deacon;  like  Mr.  Wal- 
dron ;  he  was  also  a  trustee,  like  Mr.  Waldron.  He  knew 
what  equality  and  fraternity  meant.  If  Mr.  Waldron  had 
political  influence,  John  Morley  had  literary  influence  ;  for 
he  could  use  his  pen  well  in  defence  of  their  sect  and  its 
tenets.  These  two  men  held  a  somewhat  uneasy  position 
with  regard  to  one  another.  John  Morley  Avas  the  Mor- 
decai  in  the  gate  ;  but  let  it  be  understood  that  Mr.  Wal- 
dron was  a  very  worthy  Haman,  a  really  good  man,  only  a 
little  jealous  of  the  homage  and  authority  he  believed  to 
be  his  due. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    YOUNG    STEPMOTHER. 

THE  room  behind  John  Morley's  shop  was  spacious 
enough  ;  but  it  had  a  low  ceiHng  crossed  by  a  mas- 
sive beam,  and  it  was  Hghted  only  by  a  long  low  casement 
of  small  panes  and  thick  woodwork,  opening  upon  the 
mournful  garden  at  the  back.  It  looked  like  an  addition 
to  the  crowded  shop  in  front ;  for  the  walls  were  lined 
with  shelves  closely  packed  with  books,  dull  and  dark  in 
their  bindings,  with  narrow  strips  of  crimson  baize,  which 
had  long  lost  their  bright  tint,  nailed  along  the  edge  of 
each  shelf.  The  furniture  was  heavy  and  old  ;  the  carpet 
threadbare  and  faded.  No  curtains  shut  out  the  black 
night  when  it  pressed  against  the  window  outside.  On 
the  table,  during  the  daytime,  there  usually  lay  a  pile  of 
business  books,  a  ledger,  a  day-book,  wh;ch  no  neat,  med- 
dlesome hand  of  woman  moved  from  time  to  time.  No 
woman's  work  lay  side  by  side  with  them,  neither  sewing 
nor  knitting ;  such  as  had  once,  for  a  brief  space  of  two 
years,  sometimes  ruffled  John  Morley  a  little  by  its  disor- 
der and  interference  with  his  own  more  important  occu- 
pations. He  had  remembered  them  often,  when  they 
could  come  in  his  way  no  more,  with  a  pang  too  sharp 
to  be  shown  by  any  other  sign  than  the  deepening  shadow 
under  his  eyes,  and  the  threads  of  white  growing  plainer 
in  his  dark  hair.  In  this  room,  haunted  by  memories  be- 
coming more  and  more  dreamlike,  John  Morley  had  spent 


A   YOUNG    STEPMOTHER.  T3 

his  evenings  alone,  without  companions,  and  wishing  for 
none,  having  his  books  and  his  remembrances  only  ;  the 
latter  dying  away  softly  and  slowly,  us  if  they  had  merely 
lingered  for  a  while  out  of  pure  good  nature,  before  leav- 
ing him  to  his  solitude. 

This  room  was  not,  however,  yet  solitary  at  six  o'clock 
one  winter's  evening  ;  though  John  Morley  was  occupied 
with  a  customer  in  his  shop.  It  was  unlighted,  except  by 
a  good  fire  burning  brightly  in  the  grate.  Stretched  at 
full  length  upon  the  hearth  lay  a  little  girl,  reading  by  the 
fire-light,  her  face  glowing  partly  with  the  heat,  and  partly 
with  the  interest  excited  by  her  book.  Her  hair,  cut 
short  over  the  forehead,  had  been  flaxen,  then  golden,  and 
was  now  taking  a  sunny  chestnut  shade  of  brown.  The 
eyes  were  large,  well  opened,  and  clear,  with  that  peculiar 
gaze  of  wonder  and  innocence  which  some  children's  eyes 
still  retain  at  the  age  of  ten  years.  In  spite  of  the  glow 
upon  the  face,  it  was  grave  and  sad — as  sad  as  a  child's 
face  can  be.  You  might  have  seen,  looking  at  her  closely, 
and  reading  rightly  the  expression  of  the  eyes  and  mouth 
with  its  sweet  and  pliant  lips,  that  this  was  a  child  whose 
life  would  be  most  completely  shaped  and  colored  by  the 
temperaments  .of  those  around  her.  She  could  never  be 
childishly  gay  while  others  were  suffering;  nor  grave  in 
the  presence  of  mirth.  By  a  more  direct  necessity  of  her 
nature  than  most  others  possess,  she  would  weep  with 
those  that  weep,  and  rejoice  with  those  that  rejoice.  Only 
encircle  her  with  gladness,  and  she  would  be  the  most  joy- 
ous among  the  happy ;  here  she  was  the  most  subdued 
among  her  mournful  and  sad  surroundings. 

This  child  caught  at  last  the  sound  of  animated  voices, 
aud  lifted  up  her  head,  which  had  been  bent  over  her  book. 
A  minute  or  two  afterwards  she  crossed  the  room  quietly 
to  the  door  which   connected  it  with  the  shop,  and  pu.;hed 


14  HESTER    MORLEY  S    PROMISE. 

it  open  far  enough  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  talkers.  She 
couki  see  her  father's  face,  and  slie  leaned  forward  more 
eagerly  to  look  at  it.  She  could  hardly  remember  to  have 
seen  it  without  its  profound  and  unbroken  gloom,  which 
never  lightened  when  looking  at  her.  But  now  the  gloom 
was  gone ;  the  dark  eyes  glittered,  the  stern  lips  smiled, 
and  the  heavy  eyebrows  expanded  with  an  unmistakable 
pleasure,  as  he  gazed  into  the  face  turned  towards  him. 
This  face  the  child  could  not  see.  The  little  solitary  heart 
was  as  quickly  troubled  as  the  surface  of  a  mountain  tarn, 
which  lies  open  to  every  breath  that  blows ;  and  the  tears 
came,  she  did  not  know  why,  into  her  eyes. 

"  Come  in,  and  see  my  little  girl  now,"  said  John  Mor- 
ley,  in  a  tone  which  reached  her  ears. 

The  child  shrank  back  shyly,  and  retreated  to  the 
hearth,  reaching  it  just  in  time  to  turn,  and  front  the 
stranger,  who  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold  of  the  comfortless  and  sombre  room.  The  face 
was  girlish  and  exceedingly  pretty,  set  round  with  rich 
masses  of  fair  hair,  and  lit  up  with  blue  eyes,  which  ap- 
peared to  shine  into  the  gloom,  and  disperse  it.  Her 
hesitation,  if  it  were  hesitation,  was  gone  in  an  instant, 
and  she  crossed  the  floor  with  a  light  and  eager  step  to 
the  child,  who  waited  timidly  her  approach.  She  laid  her 
arm  about  her  shoulders,  and  stooped  down  to  kiss  her 
cheek. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  gay 
young  voice,  which  seemed  to  thrill  through  the  child's 
sensitive  frame. 

"  Hester  Morley,"  she  answered,  speaking  with  quaint 
self-possession,  and  in  measured  tones  :  ''  what  is  your 
name,  and  where  do  you  come  from  i* " 

•'  My  name  is  Rose  Mary,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a 
laugh  breaking  through  the  long,  dull  silence  of  the  place, 


A    VoLXG    STEPMOTHER.  1 5 

u"-]i  a  promise  of  more  music  like  it :  "is  it  a  pretty  name, 
Il.-ster?" 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  the  child  after  a  moment's  mus- 
ing ;  "does  my  father  like  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  you  droll  little  creature  ! "  exclaimed  the  girl, 
with  a  sidelong  glance  at  John  Morley's  radiant  face.  "  1 
daresay  he  does,  but  I  shan't  ask  him.  How  old  are  you, 
Heiter  ? "' 

'■  I  am  nine  years  old,"'  she  said,  sighing  as  if  she  had 
found  the  nine  years  a  heavy  burden  ;  "  but  you  are  older 
than  me.     How  old  are  you,  Rose  Mary.-"' 

'•  Oh,  fie  I  "  she  cried,  lowering  her  voice  to  a  mock 
whisper,  "  you  must  never  ask  a  lady  her  age  ;  tliat  is 
always  a  secret.  But  I  will  tell  you  ;  only  you  must  never, 
never  tell  your  papa.  I  am  twenty-three  years  old  :  posi 
tively  an  old  woman.  What  an  odd  little  mortal  you 
are  !  " 

The  girl's  manner  had  a  light  and  graceful  vivacity 
about  it,  full  of  charm  and  novelty  to  both  of  her  grave 
listeners.  She  glanced  again  at  John  Morley  with  an  ex- 
pression which  the  child  could  not  altogether  comprehend, 
but  which  caused  her  to  withdraw  her  hand  from  hers. 
John  Morley  came  forward  to  the  hearth,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  little  daughter's  head. 

"  She  has  been  sadly  neglected,"  he  said,  look'ng  fondly 
at  the  pretty  girl  beside  him  ;  "  but  you  will  soon  put 
her  right  :  Hester,  this  lady  has  promised  to  be  your 
mother." 

Hester  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  except  that  her  clea. 
eyes  went  quickly  from  the  one  face  to  the  other  ;  but 
dwelt  longest  on  the  sombre,  yet  handsome,  features  most 
familiar  to  her. 

"  Don't  you  understand,  my  little  Hester  ?  "  asked 
Rose,  putting  her  hand  through  John  Morley's  arm.  with 


l6  HESTER    MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

a  coquettish  and  caressing  gesture.  "  I  am  going  to  be 
your  mamma,  and  take  care  of  you." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  the  child,  nodding  her  head, 
"  you  are  going  to  be  my  stepmother.  I  have  read  all 
about  it  in  books,  and  Lawson  has  told  me  about  it. 
My  real  mother  is  dead  ;  and  my  father  is  going  to  marry 
you.  Yes,  I  know  all  about  it.  At  first  the  stepmother 
is  very  kind,  and  is  very  fond  of  the  children  ;  but  as 
soon  as  she  has  a  baby  of  her  own,  she  gets  cross  with 
the  others,  and  everything  is  quite  different." 

John  Morley's  face  flushed  and  darkened  while  his 
little  daughter  spoke  in  her  measured  tones  ;  but  Rose 
laughed  her  blithe  and  musical  laugh  again,  and  fell  down 
on  her  knees  before  Hester,  so  as  to  bring  her  bright  face 
on  a  level  with  the  child's  serious  eyes. 

"Look  at  rhe,  little  Hetty!"  she  cried,  "just  look  at 
me.  Do  I  look  as  if  I  could  ever  be  cross  or  unkind  ? 
I'm  not  an  old  dragon  of  a  stepmother.  I  shall  want 
somebody  to  play  with  me,  and  your  papa  is  years  and 
years  too  old  to  play  ;  but  you  and  I  will  have  fine  games 
together.     Oh  !  I  am  sure.vou  will  love  me." 

Hester  gazed  into  the  blue  eyes  of  the  girl  with  the 
deep,  full,  unconscious  scrutiny  of  a  child.  The  color 
came  and  went  upon  Rose's  cheeks,  and  her  lips  pouted 
under  this  inspection.  At  last  Hester  half  held  out  her 
small  hand  to  her  future  stepmother,  but  checked  herself, 
looking  up  to  her  father. 

"Will  it  make  you  happy?"  she  asked  with  a  grave 
air. 

"  Happier  than  I  could  tell  you,"  answered  John  Mor- 
ley  passionately. 

"I  like  you,"  she  said,  turning  to  Rose,  "and  we  shall 
all  be  very  happy — at  first." 

"  No  !  no  !  no  I     Not  at  first  ;  but   always,"  cried    the 


A    YOUNG    STEPMOFHER.  1 7 

girl,  pressing  kiss  after  kiss  upon  Hester's  mouth,  "  we 
will  love  one  another  veiy  dearly.  You  will  be  very  glad 
to  have  me  for  your  mamma  ?  " 

'•  Yes,"  answered  Hester,  still  regarding  her  wistfully. 

"  And  you  promise  me  to  be  like  my  own  daughter," 
continued  Rose,  half  playfully,  "for  ever  and  ever?  You 
will  love,  honor  and  succor  me, — those  are  the  words,  I 
think, — as  if  I  were  your  mother?  When  I  am  old  and 
ugly,  and  nobody  cares  for  me,  you  will  care  for  me  and 
never  forsake  me.  Let  me  whisper  a  little  secret,  Hester. 
Your  father  will  grow  tired  of  me  by-and-by,  and  w^e  shall 
quarrel  sometimes,  and  he  will  be  very  angry,  and  dread- 
fully cross  ;  oh  !  so  cross  !  But  you  must  never  get  tired 
or  cross  with  me.  You  must  try  to  be  exactly,  just  exactly, 
the  same,  as  if  you  were  born  my  own  little  girl.  Will 
you  promise  me  this,  Hetty  ?  " 

She  had  spoken  quite  as  much  to  John  Morley  as  to 
Hester,  with  little  coquettish  charms  and  prettinesses 
which  infatuated  him.  Hester's  small,  serious  counte- 
nance deepened  with  thought,  as  she  deliberated  for  a 
minute  or  two,  gazing  into  her  father's  beaming  face. 

"  Ought  I  to  promise,  father  ?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

"Certainly,"  answered  John  Morley;  "she  is  to  be 
your  mother.     You  cannot  be  too  good  a  child  to  her." 

"  God  hears  me  promise,"  said  the  little  girl,  with 
simple  solemnity' ;  "  I  promise  that  I  will  be  the  same  as 
if  I  had  been  born  your  daughter.     I  do  promise  it." 

The  gloomy  room  was  silent  again  as  Hester's  child- 
ish voice  ceased  speaking;  and  the  girl,  who  still  knelt 
before  her,  grew  pale,  and  the  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 
John  Morley  also  felt  a  passing  chill  and  shadow  of  doubt 
crossing  the  brightness  of  his  new  jo\\  It  was  a  gloomy 
niche  in  a  gloomy  household,  w-hich  he  was  about  to  fill 
up  with  this  gay  and  girlish  creature.     She  glanced  round 


I8  HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

the  room  \vith  its  dingy  rows  of  books,  and  peeped  up  into 
John  Morley's  face,  already  marked  with  austere  lines  ; 
and  an  involuntary  shudder  ran  through  her.  But  the 
next  moment  she  laughed  merrily.  She  embraced  Hester 
with  warmth,  and  held  out  her  hand  for  John  Morley  to 
assist  her  in  rising  from  her  knees.  It  was  one  of  her 
charming  ways  to  seem  to  require  help  upon  the  slightest 
occasions. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  giving  him  a  smile  which 
made  his  heart  beat  quickly  again  with  delight:  "  this  is 
a  queer  child  !  She  made  me  feel,  I  can't  tell  you  how 
solemn  !  It  was  almost  like  being  married,  and  hearing 
you  vow  all  you  will  have  to  vow,  you  know.  Are  you 
quite  sure  you  will  be  as  much  in  earnest  ? " 

John  Morley  murmured  a  reply  which  could  not  reach 
Hester's  ears. 

"Well!  I  must  go  now,"  she  said.  "I  ought  to  be 
back  already  at  that  wretched  school.  Oh  !  I  am  tired  to 
death  of  it ;  I  long  to  get  away  from  it.  I  believe  I  am 
only  marrying  you  to  be  sure  of  never  going  back  to  it. 
There,  now !  It  is  such  a  shame  for  a  i)retty  girl  like  me, 
and  I  am  a  pretty  girl  you  know,  to  be  chained  to  a  long 
table,  hearing  stupid  dolts  repeat  stupid  lessons.  You 
will  save  my  life,  sir ;  and  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times 
for  it." 

She  curtseyed  to  him  playfully,  kissed  Hester,  and 
tiipped  away  lightly  out  of  the  dark  room,  which  seemed 
darker  than  ever  after  she  had  left  it. 


CHAPTER    III. 

PASTOR    AND    DEACONS. 

"TTXHEN  John  Morley  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  he 
V  V  busied  himself  for  some  minutes  in  Hghting  the 
lamp,  and  setting  everything  into  unbroken  order,  without 
once  venturing  to  meet  the  eyes  of  Iiis  little  girl,  who  still 
kept  her  station  upon  the  hearth,  watching  him  timidly 
but  steadily.  There  was  an  undefined  shyness  and  dis- 
quietude in  his  feelings  towards  her,  which  he  could  not 
well  have  explained  to  himself.  He  was  accustomed  to 
perform  these  small  feminine  duties  of  setting  his  room  in 
order ;  but  to-night  he  found  himself  embarrassed  and 
awkward,  with  Hester's  eyes  upon  him.  After  complet- 
ing his  methodical  arrangements,  he  reached  down  a  thick 
old  volume  from  the  bookshelves,  and  appeared  to  absorb 
himself  in  its  contents. 

But  he  was  not  reading.  Hester  was  not  to  be  de- 
ceived by  the  transparent  artifice  ;  and  he  felt  it  uneasily, 
and  moved  restlessly  in  his  arm-chair,  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  thin  and  scholarly  hand.  But  all  his  features 
were  kindled  with  a  sunshine  from  within,  brighter  and 
stronger  than  a  smile.  For  he  would  not  smile  ;  though 
he  could  not  dim  the  light  in  his  eyes,  or  make  harsh 
again  the  strange  softness  which  was  smoothing  away  the 
rigid  lines  upon  his  face.  •  Hester  comprehended,  but 
vaguely  and  as  a  child  only,  that  a  sad  life,  solitary  and 
unnatural,  was  coming  to  an   end,  and  that  already  the 


20  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

light  shone  upon  him  from  afar  off.  Her  young  heart  was 
full  of  sympathy  for  him  ;  but  for  some  time  she  kept 
silence.  Her  short  life  had  been  full  of  lessons  of  reserve 
and  taciturnity. 

"  Father,"  she  said  after  a  long  while, — and  he  put 
down  his  hand,  and  looked  across  to  her,  where  she  sat 
in  a  large,  deep,  old  arm-chair  which  had  always  been 
her  mother's  seat, — "  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  to  have  a  step- 
mother."' 

The  child's  approbation  had  something  quaint  about  it, 
but  its  oddity  did  not  seem  to  strike  her  father ;  though  he 
allowed  a  vivid  smile  to  flit  across  his  face  as  he  heard  it. 

"  Will  it  be  long  before  you  are  tired  of  my  step- 
mother?" inquired  Hester. 

"  I  shall  never  be  tired  of  her ! "  he  answered. 
"  But  you  are  tired  of  me,"  she  continued,  "  and  you 
are    tired  of  my  mother,    or  else  you    would  not  want  to 
marry  another  wife.     So  I  thought  you  would  get  tired  of 
Rose  Mary  some  day." 

"Hester,"  said  John  Morley,  his  face  over-clouded 
again,  "  I  should  never  have  been  tired  of  your  mother  if 
she  had  lived." 

♦'  But  you  tell  me  she  does  live,"  persisted  the  child, 
"  and  Lawson  says  she  comes  back  sometimes  and  walks 
about  the  house,  though  I  cannot  see  her.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  can  feel  her  kissing  me  very  softly.  Perhaps  she 
is  here  this  evening,  and  heard  me  promise  to  be  like  a 
daughter  to  my  stepmother.  Do  you  think  she  would 
like  it,  father?" 

It  was  seldom  that  Hester  spoke  so  freely  and  flu- 
ently ;  but  this  evening  she  was  excited,  her  cheeks  were 
crimson,  and  her  large  gray  eyes  were  lit  up.  John  Mor- 
ley lowered  his  voice,  and  looked  stealthily  round  the  room 
as  he  answered  her. 


PASTOR    AND    DEACONS.  21 

"My  love,  if  your  poor  mother,  who  was  very  dear  tc 
me, — clearer  than  you  can  thmk, — could  know  of  this,  I  am 
sure  she  would  rejoice  for  your  sake  as  well  as  mine.  I 
am  doing  what  I  believe  to  be  good  for  you  as  well  as  for 
myself.  You  need  some  woman  to  stand  in  a  close  rela- 
tionship to  you ;  and  you  will  need  it  more  as  you  grow 
older.     Rose  will  be  a  second  mother  to  you." 

"You  are  quite  sure?"  said  Hester,  with  a  childish 
love  of  reiterated  and  positive  assurance. 

"  Quite  sure,"  he  answered. 

Perhaps  he  had  had  but  little  thought  of  his  child  till 
this  evening,  but  now  he  began  to  believe  that  she  had 
been*his  chief  consideration  ;  and  as  he  turned  back  to  his 
book,  he  said  to  himself'  several  tmies,  "  Certainly,  Rose 
will  be  a  second  mother  to  her." 

The  silence  which  followed  seemed  scarcely  like  a 
silence  to  him  ;  while  the  eager  face  of  Hester  was  bent 
forward  out  of  her  great  arm-chair,  and  her  speaking  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  him.  But  he  would  give  no  attention 
to  her  eloquent  looks  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  seemed 
aware  of  this,  for  she  nestled  down  into  her  mother's  chair, 
as  she  might  have  nestled  into  her  mother's  lap,  and  pro- 
duced a  book  which  she  had  kept  wrapped  up  in  her  pina- 
fore since  the  first  interruption  of  her  evening's  reading. 
John  Morley  and  his  daughter  sat  thus  for  half  an  hour, 
no  sound  reaching  them  from  without ;  when  the  sharp 
tinkle  of  the  shop-bell  broke  upon  the  stillness. 

The  persons  who  entered  were  two  men,  one  old,  the 
other  elderly ;  unlike  in  feature,  yet  possessing  an  unde- 
finable  and  subtle  resemblance,  which  linked  them  togeth- 
er, and  seemed  also  to  link  them  to  John  Morley.  It 
might  have  been  that  the  order  of  their  thoughts,  and  the 
convictions  and  conclusions  at  which  they  had  arrived,  had 
been  the  same  ;  for  the  brain  works  out  its  own   family 


22  HKSTER    MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 

likenesses.  It  was  evident  that  in  some  way  or  other  thej 
belonged  to  one  class  ;  though  John  Morley,  a  handsomer 
man  than  either  of  the  others,  had  also  most  the  look  of  a 
scholar.  The  smallest,  meekest,  and  eldest  of  the  three 
men  was  distinguished  as  a  minister  by  his  di'ess,  and  the 
spotless  whiteness  of  a  large  neckcloth,  which  served  to 
withdraw  the  eye  from  dwelling  upon  his  somewhat  feeble 
features.  The  third  was  a  robust,  thick-set,  elderly  man, 
with  a  square  and  massive  face,  and  with  the  air  of  one 
not  much  accustomed  to  be  gainsaid,  yet  wiio  would  not 
altogether  dislike  to  meet  with  a  worthy  antagonist. 

"  Bi-other  Morley,  we  come  as  friends,"  said  the  min- 
ister. 

With  a  courteous  but  formal  bow  John  Morley  ushered 
his  guests  into  his  sitting-room,  and  set  chairs  for  them  at 
the  table  ;  as  if  they  were  about  to  sit  in  committee.  The 
minister  alone  took  any  notice  of  Hester,  who  slipped 
down  fr-om  her  high  seat  upon  their  entrance,  to  offer  them 
a  shy  welcome.  She  was  used  to  listen  earnestly  to  the 
discussions  and  controversies  often  held  in  her  father's 
parlor. 

This  evening,  however,  there  was  some  difficulty  in 
introducing  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  when  the 
minister  broke  silence  it  was  in  a  faltering,  apologetic 
voice. 

"Brother  Morley,"  he  said,  "cannot  you  divine  the 
purport  of  our  visit  to-night?" 

Over  John  Morley's  face  closed  again  much  of  the  old 
gloom  and  austerity,  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of 
his  visitors  ;  gazing  longest  and  hardest  into  the  square 
set  face  of  the  younger  man;  who  regarded  him,  in  his 
turn,  with  an  unflinching  judicial  eye.  The  three  men 
were  three  brothers  doubtless,  though  the  weakness  and 
mercifulness  of  age  were  creeping  over  the  eldest. 


PASTOR    AM)    DKACOXS.  23 

"We  are  come,"  he  continued,  deprecatingh',  "liecause 
certain  rumors  have  reached  the  ears  of  the  church — ■''' 

"  'J'he  churcli  has  many  ears,  and  long  ones,"  inter- 
rupted John  Moriey,  with  a  grim  smile,  "but  no  doubt  it 
has  heard  correctly.  I  apprehend  the  purport  of  these 
rumors." 

"  But  brother,"  pursued  the  minister,  in  his  most  sooth- 
ing accents,  "it  is  not  as  if  you  were  one  of  the  unknown 
and  inconsiderable  members  of  the  church.  You  are  one 
of  our  chief  men  ;  a  polished  pillar  in  the  temple.  We 
come  only  to  expostulate  and  beseech.  It  is  written  in 
the  Scriptures,  '  Thou  shalt  rebuke  thy  brother,  and  not 
suffer  sin  upon  him.'  " 

The  minister  gazed  at  John  jMorley  with  mingled  en- 
treaty and  sadness  ;  but  his  companion,  who  was  eager  to 
prusuc  the  assault  with  greater  vigor,  quickly  broke  the 
reverential  pause  which  followed  his  quotation  from  the 
Bible. 

"  Come,  brother  Moriey,"  he  said,  speaking  as  if  he 
were  a  brother  very  far  removed,  "  there's  no  need  to  beat 
longer  about  the  bush.  You  are  thinking  of  taking  a  sec- 
ond wife." 

"  That  is  essentially  a  domestic  arrangement,  Mr. 
Waldron,"  said  John  Moriey,  girding  himself  willingly  for 
the  contest :  "  the  church  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If 
it  were  a  question  of  moral  discipline  the  church  must 
needs  take  note  of  it.  But  it  has  no  voice  in  this  matter  ; 
neither  of  assent,  nor  veto." 

"  Tush,  brother  !  "  answered  Mr.  Waldron,  sharpl;^  : 
"we  come  but  semi-officially.  As  your  brethren,  we  are 
bound  to  watch  your  conduct ;  and  if  your  choice  had 
fallen  upon  a  godly  woman,  not  a  word  would  have  been 
said.  But  when  we  see  one  of  ourselves  about  to  form 
an    ensnaring  union,    our  constitution    as  a  pure    church 


24  IIKSTKR    ^rOIa,EV's    PROMISE. 

gives  us  the  right,  and  Inys  it  upon  us  as  a  duty,  to  warn, 
rebuke,  and  protest.     This  marriage  ought  not  to  be." 

"  Yes,  dear  brother,"  said  the  minister,  emboldened  by 
Mr.  Waldron's  words,  and  pressing  into  the  breach  he  had 
made,  "the  rule  of  the  apostle  is  simple  :  'Be  ye  not  un 
equally  yoked  with  unbelievers.'  " 

••'  The  unbeliever,"  replied  John  Morley  slowly,  "  sig- 
nified to  the  early  church  the  heathen  and  idolater  My 
future  wife  has  been  baptized,  and  is  probably  a  communi- 
cant in  the  Church  of  England ;  therefore  she  cannot  be 
called  an  unbeliever  in  that  sense.  But  there  is  another 
saying  of  the  apostle  :  '  The  unbelieving  wife  is  sancti- 
fied by  the  husband.'  I  trust  that  this  marriage  may 
prove  the  entrance  into  a  purer  faith  and  truer  creed  for 
my  wife." 

There  was  a  short  silence  again,  while  Mr.  Waldron 
drew  a  well-worn  Bible  out  of  his  pocket,  and  turned  over 
its  pages  impatienth'. 

"  Listen  then,  John  Morley,"  he  said ;  "  in  the  thir- 
teenth chapter  of  Nehemiah,  beginning  at  the  twenty-third 
verse,  it  is  thus  written  : — 

"  •  In  those  da5^s  also  saw  I  Jews  that  had  married 
wives  of  Ashdod,  of  Ammon,  and  of  Moab.  And  their 
children  spake  half  in  the  speech  of  Ashdod,  and  could 
not  speak  in  the  Jews'  language,  but  according  to  the 
language  of  each  people. 

"  '  And  I  contended  with  them,  and  cursed  them,  and 
smote  certain  of  them,  and  plucked  off  their  hair,  and 
made  them  swear  by  God,  saying,  Ye  shall  not  give  your 
daughters  unto  their  sons,  nor  take  their  daughters  unto 
your  sons,  or  for  yourselves. 

"'  Did  not  Solomon  king  of  Israel  sin  by  these  things? 
yet  among  many  nations  was  there  no  king  like  him,  who 
was  beloved  of  his  God,  and  God  made  him  king  over  all 


I'ASruR    AM)    DEACONS.  2$ 

Israel :  nevertheless,  even  him  did  outlandish  women  cause 
to  sin. 

'' '  Shall  we  then  hearken  unto  you  to  do  all  this  great 
evil,  to  transgress  against  our  God  in  marrying  strange 
wives  ? ' " 

Mr,  Waldron  read  the  passage  with  an  evidently  keen 
sympathy  with  the  indignant  governor;  and  he  looked 
hard  into  John  Morley's  rigid  face.  The  latter  was  not  a 
man  to  yield  quietly  to  the  arbitrary  rule  even  of  Nehemiah 
the  Tirshatha  ;  and  he  met  the  judicial  frown  bent  upon 
him  with  cool  composure. 

"Yet  it  had  been  permitted  to  the  ancient  Jews,"' he 
said,  "  under  the  rule  of  Moses,  when  they  saw  among  the 
captives  a  damsel  who  pleased  them,  to  take  her  to  wife. 
Also  David,  the  man  after  God's  own  heart,  took  to  wife 
Maacah,  the  daughter  of  Talmai,  king  of  Geshur." 

"And  she  bare  him  Absalom,"  interrupted  Mr.  Waldron 
eagerly,  "  the  rebel  and  the  assassin." 

The  words  were  still  upon  his  lips  when  there  came  a 
gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  from  without 
before  John  Morley  could  reach  it.  Rose  appeared  in  the 
doorway ;  and  the  minister  and  Mr.  Waldron  regarded  her 
with  surprised  admiration.  Again  the  sombre  room 
seemed  the  brighter  for  her  presence,  and  her  clear,  fresh 
young  voice  sounded  pleasantly  to  their  ears,  after  their 
own  grave  and  deep  tones. 

'•  I  thought  I  should  find  you  and  Hetty  alone,  Mr. 
Morley,"  she  said  ;  smiles  and  blushes  following  one 
another  closely  upon  her  fair  face  ;  "  and  the  bell  did  not 
ring,  so  I  came  straight  on  here.  I  have  only  left  a  book 
behind  me,  and  I  came  back  to  fetch  it." 

John  Morley  had  approached  her,  and  drawn  her  hand 
through  his  arm  with  an  air  of  pride.  Hester  too,  as  if 
attracted  by  some  irresistible  charm,  had  descended  from 

2 


26  HKSTKR    M()R1,1:V"S    TKOMISE. 

her  seat,  and  pressed  close  beside  her.  This  girl  possessed 
some  fascination  which  drew  all  hearts  to  her  ;  though  one 
might  know  lovelier  women,  wiser  women,  women  tenfold 
better.  The  few  words  she  had  uttered  were  simple  ;  but 
like  the  foolish  old  songs  with  sweet  tunes,  which  are  heard 
by  chance,  and  which  one  always  wishes  to  hear  once  more, 
the  three  men  were  silent  in  the  dull  parlor  when  she 
ceased  speaking,  as  if  they  waited  to  hear  her  voice  again. 

"  This  is  the  young  lady  who  has  consented  to  be  my 
wife,  Mr.  Waldron,"  said  John  Morley,  with  an  ill-con- 
cealed triumph  in  the  effect  her  appearance  had  produced. 

She  stole  a  bashful  look  at  the  great  man  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  curtseyed  profoundly  ;  a  boarding-school 
curtsey,  learnt  from  a  dancing-inaster,  yet  not  without  a 
certain  diffident  grace  of  its  own.  Mr.  Waldron's  face 
relaxed  from  its  severity. 

"  Well  brother,"  he  said,  with  greater  affability  than 
before,  "  I  wish  you  joy.  And  you  also,  my  dear  ;  only  we 
must  make  you  one  of  ourselves  as  speedily  as  possible. 
We  have  just  been  speaking  of  it  to  John  Morley.  Yo(!i 
must  join  the  church,  when  you  become  his  wife  and  the 
mother  of  this  litde  girl." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  murmured  the  girl,  with  charming  shame- 
facedness  ;  while  a  shade  of  gravity  clouded  her  sunny  face 
for  a  moment.  The  old  minister  came  forward,  and  ad- 
dressed her  in  a  tone  of  earnest  solemnity. 

"  It  will  be  the  turning-point  of  your  life,"  he  said,  "  to 
become  the  wife  of  a  godly  man.  Hitherto  you  have  been 
wandering  in  the  paths  of  vanity,  but  here  you  will  be  safely 
enfolded  from  the  snares  of  this  world.  Morning,  noon, 
and  night  a  voice  will  sound  in  your  ears  :  '  This  is  the 
way  ;  walk  ye  in  it.'  You  will  be  snatched  from  the  world, 
and  gathered  into  the  bosom  of  the  church." 

Once  again  the  girl   shivered,  and  looked  in  bewilder- 


PASTOR    AND    DEACONS.  27 

ment  at  the  faces  around  her,  wondering  what  their  strange 
manner  of  greeting  her  might  mean.  But  they  had  each 
put  on  a  smile  for  her,  and  her  nature  was  buoyant  enough 
in  itself  to  find  complacency  everywhere.  John  Morley's 
handsome  face,  moreover,  wore  an  expression  which  any 
woman  would  be  pleased  to  see  in  her  future  husband  ; 
and  she  bridled  her  pretty  head  with  a  half-affected  air  of 
coquetry. 

"  I  must  go  directly,"  she  said  in  a  girlish  tone  of  im- 
portance; "I  have  a  hundred  things  to  do  yet  to-night. 
There  is  my  book  on  the  table,  Mr.  Morley.  Thank  you 
very  much.  Good-night  j  good-night.  Good-bye,  my  little 
Hetty." 

The  door  closed  upon  her,  but  the  three  men  did  not 
resume  their  seats,  and  Hester  remained  standing  on  the 
hearth,  listening  eagerly  for  their  next  words.  The  con- 
troversy had  come  to  an  unexpected  end.  Yet  John  Mor- 
ley drew  his  little  daughter  within  his  arms,  in  an  unaccus- 
tomed caress,  and  stroked  down  her  tangled  hair  with  a 
trembling  hand. 

"  If  the  church  be  scandalized,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  he  rendered  steady  by  a  great  effort,  "  I  can  with- 
draw from  it.  There  are  other  forms  of  worship  and  other 
sects  not  greatly  differing  from  our  own.  My  intended 
wife  has  been  brought  up  in  the  Established  Church.  If 
it  be  necessary — " 

The  pause  was  of  even  more  significance  than  the 
words  ;  and  the  old  minister  opened  his  eyes  widely  in 
unutterable  astonishment.  Mr.  Waldron  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"It  is  a  matter  for  expostulation,"  he  said,  "not  of  re- 
proof or  censure.  Let  each  man  act  according  to  his  own 
conscience.     What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Watson  ?'' 

"  It  is   a  question   encompassed  with  difficulties,"  an 


28  HESTER    MOKLEV'S    PROMISE. 

swered  the  minister  diffidently;  "and  every  man  must  act 
according  to  his  own  inward  light.  But  since  brother 
Morley  has  gone  so  far  as  to  promise  marriage  to  this 
young  creature,  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  conscientiously 
break  off  his  covenant  with  her." 

With  that  uttterance  the  subject  seemed  settled.  A  few 
minutes  later  Mr.  Waldron  shook  hands  with  John  Morley 
with  distant  brotherliness,  and  went  away  with  the  minister. 
John  Morley  kissed  his  child,  and  bade  her  go  to  bed  and 
dream  of  her  new  mother.  But  Hester  loitered  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  after  he  had  reopened  his  large  book,  as  if  long- 
ing to  say  something  to  him.  It  was  evidently  an  effort, 
an  effort  which  she  felt  constrained  to  make;  and  at  last, 
when  he  believed  himself  to  be  alone,  John  Morley  heard  a 
small,  timid  voice  speaking  from  the  threshold,  and  saw 
Hester  looking  back  at  him  with  anxious  eyes.  What  she 
had  to  say  before  she  left  him  was  simply  this  :  "  I  hope 
you  will  not  make  God  angry  with  you,  father." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  MONOMANIAC. 

ONE  of  the  three  gables  of  John  Morley's  house  rose 
a  story  higher  than  the  others,  and  undei  its  pointed 
roof  was  a  large  attic,  lighted  by  a  great  dornner  window, 
which  overlooked  the  neighboring  buildings,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  fields  and  woods  beyond,  with  a  range  of  dis- 
tant hills,  lying  blue  and  cloudlike  against  the  sky  line. 
It  was  the  pleasantest  room  in  the  dark  old  house.  Be- 
neath it  lay  some  printing  offices,  black  and  grimy,  contain- 
ing ancient  presses,  covered  over  with  dust  and  cobwebs ; 
for  John  Morley  had  given  up  the  printing  business,  which 
his  predecessor  had  carried  on,  and  the  attic  in  the  gable 
was  his  only  workroom.  He  employed  also  but  one  work- 
man, a  stranger,  who  looked  like  a  foreigner,  and  who  had 
been  passing  through  the  town  on  the  tramp  the  first  week 
after  his  marriage  with  Hester's  mother.  The  young  wife 
had  taken  pity  upon  the  footsore  and  famishing  wanderer, 
and  had  persuaded  her  husband  to  give  him  a  trial  at  his 
professed  trade  as  a  bookbinder.  This  trial  was  a  com- 
plete success.  He  had  learned  his  trade  in  Paris ;  his 
faiher  having  been  an  English  artisan,  who  had  married  a 
Frenchwoman  from  Burgundy.  The  amount  of  work 
accomplished  by  this  single  man  was  marvellous,  and  the 
price  he  set  upon  it  extravagant ;  yet  such  was  the  taste 
and  beauty  of  the  workmanship,  that  John  Morley  seldom 
received  less  for  it  than  the  high  sum  at  which  his  binder 


30  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

valued  it.  Throughout  the  whole  county  no  binding  was 
esteemed  unless  it  had  issued  from  John  Morley's  work- 
shop. 

'J'he  binding  room,  wherein  this  solitary  artisan  had 
worked  for  ten  years,  was  not  only  light  and  sunny,  but  it 
was  odorous  with  the  pleasant  scent  of  Russia  leathe/ 
and  morocco,  and  in  the  summer  with  the  flowers  which 
he  cultivated  in  boxes  and  pots  about  his  window-sill. 
His  press  and  work-table  stood  in  the  wide  bay  formed  by 
the  casement,  w-here  the  daylight  fell  upon  .him,  long  after 
the  court  below  and  the  sombre  parlor  were  obscured  in 
twilight.  Over  the  rusty  old  grate,  which  was  formed  only 
of  a  few  rude  bars  of  iron  fastened  into  the  chimney  jamb, 
stood  a  rack  containing  his  tools  for  the  printing  of  his 
ornamental  devices  upon  the  gold-leaf  All  around  on  the 
shelves  and  the  sloping  ceiling  were  displayed  specimens 
of  the  tasteful  branch  of  art  which  he  carried  on  in  unbro- 
ken monotony  from  day  to  day,  and  from  year  to  year. 

He  was  a  man  so  qaiet,  perhaps  from  his  ten  years  of 
lonely  work,  that  never  was  any  sound  heard  of  him  in  his 
attic  ;  which  indeed  was  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the  house 
by  the  empty  rooms  below,  though  there  was  a  door  out  of 
them  which  communicated  with  the  second  floor  of  the 
dwelling.  There  was  another  entrance  to  the  workroom 
by  a  door  into  a  passage  running  along  the  side  of  the 
house,  of  which  he  kept  the  key,  in  order  to  let  himself  in 
at  any  hour  ;  for  he  was  an  early  riser,  and  often  came  to 
his  work  at  five  o'clock  in  the  oiorning,  and  remained 
until  late  at  night  ;  taking  neither  pleasure  nor  rest,  be- 
yond that  absolutely  necessary  for  health.  He  was  a  small, 
tough,  withered-looking  man,  stooping  a  good  deal  in  the 
shoulders,  and  with  thin,  scanty  hair.  Always  upon  reach- 
ing the  deserted  printing  oftices,  it  was  his  custom  tc 
exchange   his  boots   for  a  pair  of  soundless  list  slippers, 


A    M()XO.MAXrA(\  31 

which  could  make  no  noise  upon  the  bare  boards  of  his 
attic.  He  was  a  nervous  man,  starting  at  every  sound,  ot' 
which  however  but  few  ever  reached  him  in  his  solitude, 
for  the  window  opened  upon  the  court  instead  of  the  street ; 
and  whatever  rare  tumult  might  be  in  the  latter  only  came 
to  his  ears  softened  b}'  the  distance.  So  quiet  was  the 
gable  that  the  house-sparrows  gathered  there  in  ntimbers, 
and  their  shrill,  pert  chirping  seemed  the  only  sound  that 
did  not  discompose  him. 

The  sole  pleasure  of  this  secluded  and  laborious  being 
was  to  see  Hester  push  open  the  door  of  his  attic,  and, 
with  her  book  under  her  arm,  creep  quietly  in  and  climb 
upon  a  tall  chair  which  stood  at  a  corner  of  the  press. 
There  sh5  watched  him  spreading  the  delicate  gold-leaf 
upon  the  crimson  or  blue  morocco  of  his  bindings,  and 
stamp  them  carefully  with  his  elegant  devices.  Very  sel- 
dom any  conversation  passed  between  these  two ;  but 
sometimes  the  child  mounted  upon  a  ladder,  and  sat  on 
the  highest  step,  which  reached  nearly  to  the  ceiling,  and 
there  read  aloud,  in  a  low,  pleasant  murmur  of  a  voice, 
which  was  as  soothing  as  silence  itself,  from  the  book 
which  happened  to  be  the  favorite  of  the  day.  That  was 
the  crowning  point  of  his  pleasure  ;  but  he  never  sought 
it,  and  never  put  his  sense  of  delight  into  words.  If  Hes- 
ter ever  brought  him  any  book  to  be  mended,  however  old 
and  stained  and  worn,  he  lavished  all  his  art  upon  it ;  pon- 
dering in  his  mind  what  new  device  he  could  discover  to 
embellish  it.  The  nursery  rhymes  and  primers  of  Hester 
Morley  were  marvels  in  the  decorative  art  of  bookbind- 
ing ;  though  they  lay  unseen  in  her  bedroom,  upon  soma 
shelves  which  he  had  made  for  her. 

The  second  marriage  of  John  Morley  was  solemnized 
ii.  a  distant  town,  and  afterwards  hz  took  his  young  bride 
a  short  excursion,  while  his  house  was  being  set  in  order 


32  HESlER    MORI.EV  S    I'ROMISf. 

br  her  reception.  During  this  time  Hester  ahnost  lived 
n  the  attic,  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  Lawson  ;  a  de- 
iight,  however,  which  was  mingled  with  a  profound  and 
smouldering  resentment  against  his  master.  He  could 
not  understand  how  he  could  need  any  companionship 
beside  his  child's. 

"  Lawson,"  said  Hester,  one  day  recurring  to  a  subject 
which  had  secretly  troubled  her  ever  since  the  visit  of 
Mr.  Waldron  and  the  minister  to  John  Morley,  "do  you 
think  that  God  will  be  really  angry  with  my  father  for  be- 
ing married  to  another  wife  ?  " 

"  Ay,  do  I,"  answered  Lawson,  in  deep  accents  and 
brief  words. 

"  But,  Lawson,"  she  said,  her  face  growing  pale  and 
awe-stricken,  "  it  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  make  God  angry. 
Miss  Waldron  has  taught  me  all  about  it  at  the  Sunday- 
school.  Don't  you  know  what  He  did  to  Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah ?  Suppose  He  sent  clown  fire  from  heaven,  and 
burnt  all  the  house  up  ?  Or  suppose  He  should  strike  my 
father  and  my  new  mother  dead,  like  Ananias  and  Sap- 
phira  ?  I  can't  help  thinking  about  it  all  day  long,  and  at 
nights  when  I  awake.     What  should  God  be  angry  for  ? " 

Lawson  stooped  over  his  work,  breathing  softly  on  the 
gold-leaf,  and  smoothing  it  out  carefiilly  with  his  smooth- 
2st  finger, 

"  If  God  is  angry  with  my  father,"  continued  Hester, 
sobbing,  "  I  think  I  should  like  Him  to  be  angry  with  me 
as  well.  If  Ananias  and  Sapphira  had  any  little  children, 
who  v/ould  take  care  of  them  after  they  were  struck  dead  ? 
But  I  don't  think  He  will  be  angry.  Have  j-ou  ever  seen 
my  new  mother,  Lawson?" 

"  You  must  not  call  her  mother,"  said  Lawson  ;  "  youi 
mother  is  in  heaven,  with  God." 

"  But  I've  promised  to  be  like  her  very  own  daughter 


A    MONOMANIAC.  33 

for  ever  and  ever/'  answered  Hester  ;  "  I  dor't  know  what 
made  me  promise,  only  my  father  said  I  ought,  and  it 
would  make  him  happy.  Lawson,  I  would  do  anything 
to  make  my  father  happy.  And  I  don't  think  she  will  be 
the  same  as  the  stepmothers  in  books.  What  was  my  own 
mother  like,  Lawson  ? " 

W'th  slow  and  quiet  movements,  for  he  seemed  incapa- 
ble of  any  quick  or  energetic  action,  Lawson  mounted  the 
step  ladder,  and  reached  an  old  portfolio  from  the  highest 
shelf  From  this  he  drew  out  an  engraving,  mounted 
upon  board,  and  surrounded  by  an  exquisite  scroll  of  gild- 
ing and  coloring  :  it  was  a  woman's  face  only — a  sweet, 
calm,  colorless  face,  long  and  oval,  with  a  placid  serenity 
approaching  to  sadness  upon  it.  The  child  and  the  work- 
man bent  over  it  some  time  in  silence. 

"That  was  how  she  looked,"  he  whispered,  "the  last 
time  I  saw  her,  just  before  she  died  ;  and  I  promised,  and 
your  father  promised,  on  our  bended  knees,  that  we'd  neither 
have  thought,  nor  care,  nor  plan,  save  for  you  and  your 
happiness,  Miss  Hester.  And  this  is  the  way,"  he  cried, 
smiting  his  hands  together  with  a  sudden  agony  of  passion 
which  seemed  impossible  in  so  quiet  and  subdued  a  crea- 
ture, "  that  my  master  keeps  his  promise  !  Yes.  God  and 
I  do  well  to  be  angry." 

It  might  have  provoked  a  smile  to  hear  this  puny, 
shiivelled,  insignificant  workman  identify  himself  and  his 
impotent  resentment  with  God  and  His  anger.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  smile,  except  Hester,  who  looked  up  into 
his  face  with  wide  open  eyes  of  terror  and  amazement. 

"Miss  Hester,"  he  said,  more  wildly,  "  trhis  is  how  it  is. 
It  is  seven  years  ago,  and  IVe  been  toiling  ever  since  to 
make  a  dotiox  you.  ^Miy  I've  only  taken  eighteen  shil- 
lings a  week  wages  from  your  father,  while  he  gets  six  or 
seven,  or  sometimes  ten  pounds  a  week  by  my  work  !  1 
2* 


34  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

found  out  a  new  way  of  bevelling  the  edges,  which  nobody 
knows  how  to  do  save  myself.  There  was  a  very  nice  lit- 
tle fortune  for  you  already.  Everybody  was  saying  John 
Morlcy  is  rich.  And  so  this  bold,  laughing,  flirting,  flaunt- 
ing madam  has  married  him  for  his  money,  and  she  will 
make  il  fly  like  chaff  before  the  wind.  We  shall  all  be  poor 
again.  I've  been  keeping  down  my  poor  mother  and  my- 
self, when  I  might  have  made  money  for  us  both." 

"Is  your  mother  very  poor? "asked  Hester. 

"  Yes.  She  is  living  with  my  sister  in  Burgundy,  "  he 
answered  ;  "  both  of  them  are  widov/s,  and  they  are  quite 
poor,  but  for  what  I  send  them,  and  I  haven't  sent  them  as 
much  as  I  could." 

"  Is  my  father  very  rich,  Lawson  ? "  asked  Hester  again. 

"  He  would  have  been  by  the  time  you  wanted  yoxxs: dot" 
answered  Lawson. 

"  I  don't  know  what  a  dot  is,"  said  Hester. 

"  It  is  the  money  you  will  want  to  marry  a  good  husband 
with,''  he  replied  ;  "  and  now  you  will  be  poor,  very  poor. 
It's  all  over,  and  I've  been  a  fool,  and  John  Morley  is  a 
fool." 

He  threw  himself  half  across  his  binding  press,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  while  Hester  stood  by 
looking  doubtfully  at  his  downcast  attitude,  and  going  over 
in  her  mind  the  strange  things  he  had  been  saying. 

'•  Do  you  think  my  own  mother  knows  ? "  she  asked  at 
last  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  Ay  !  does  she,"  answered  Lawson  ;  "  many  and  many 
a  time  she  comes  up  here,  and  walks  about  with  her  soft, 
quiet  feet,  which  I  couldn't  hear  at  all  if  there  was  any 
noise  in  the  room  ;  and  she  looks  over  my  work,  and 
pushes  the  right  tool  towards  me,  when  I  don't  quite  know 
what  to  do  for  the  best.  Oh,  she  knows  all  that  goes  on 
in  'be  old   house   she  has  left.     Don't  vou   think  she  is 


A    MOXOMAMAC.  35 

often  and  often  with  you,  Miss  Hester,  wiitching  over  \ou 
in  your  little  bed,  and  sitting  by  you  in  the  parlor  of  an 
evening,  when  you're  reading?  Do  you  never  feel  her 
near  you  ? " 

"  I  think  I  do,'"  whispered  the  child,  pressing  close  to 
the  visionary  man,  and  laying  her  small  fingers  upon  his 
warm  living  hand. 

'•  She  may  die  yet !  She  may  die  yet !  "  he  muttered  to 
liimselfj  "  people  die  easily  sometimes.  Then  vve  should 
be  all  right  again.  There's  no  room  for  two  mistresses  in 
one  house.  I  shall  never  feel  her  near  to  me  when  the 
other  is  here.  My  best  work  is  over.  I  shall  do  no  more 
good  in  the  world  as  long  as  the  other  one  is  alive." 

He  continued  muttering  to  himself  at  intervals,  while 
he  burnished  the  gilding  under  bis  hands.  Hester  moun- 
ted to  her  high  seat  upon  the  step-ladder,  and  sat  watch- 
ing the  evening  clouds,  which  could  be  seen  slowly  sailing 
towards  the  west  across  the  field  of  sky  which  was  visible 
from  the  window.  Now  and  then  she  sighed  as  a  child 
seldom  sighs.  The  sun  went  down,  and  the  distant  cor- 
ners of  the  attic  grew  dusk}-,  and  filled  Vvith  shadows  ;  and 
when  the  child  awoke  from  her  long  reverie,  cold  and 
troubled,  she  fancied  readily  that  in  the  darkest  of  the 
gloom  there  stood  the  soft,  light  outline  of  a  figure  clothed 
in  white,  whose  dim  face  was  calm  and  sweet  and  sad.  It 
was  her  mother  ;  but  she  had  entered  into  a  covenant  to  be 
as  a  daughter  to  her  lather's  second  wife. 


CHAPTER   V. 

FLEETING    SUNSHINE. 

THE  motives  which  had  determined  the  second  Mrs. 
Morley  to  become  the  wife  of  a  man  fifteen  years  her 
senior,  and  altogether  different  to  the  beau  ideal  of  a  hus- 
band which  her  girlish  fancy  had  painted,  were  as  complex 
as  the  motives  to  such  marriages  generally  are.  In  the 
first  place  she  had  attained  the  age  of  three-and-twenty, 
yet,  though  very  pretty  and  engaging,  had  met  with  no  real 
opportunity  of  escaping  from  the  life  she  hated  ;  that  of  a 
governess  in  a  middle-class  boarding-school.  There  was 
a  dreadful  possibility  that  her  attractions  might  fade  away 
before  she  met  with  an  establishment  worthy  of  her;  and 
she  longed  to  be  the  mistress  of  a  house  of  her  own.  On 
the  other  hand,  John  Morley  had  the  reputation  of  being 
rich  for  his  station,  and  he  was  a  handsomer  and  more 
polished  man  than  any  of  the  younger  men  with  whom  she 
was  brought  into  contact.  Except  one  memory,  which  was 
sentimentally  brooded  over  in  her  heart,  no  one  had  so 
nearly  touched  her  frivolous  affections  as  this  grave,  melan- 
choly, handsome  man  of  middle  age,  who  had  abandoned 
himself  to  a  passionate  devotion  to  her.  She  felt  some- 
thing of  jealousy  and  triumph  in  thinking  of  the  young 
wife,  whom  he  had  sorrowed  for  so  austerely,  and  who  was 
at  last  forgotten  in  her  grave  for  her  sake.  As  the  last 
reason,  she  fancied  that  the  toil  and  monotony  of  school 
life  had  already  stolen  away  something  of  the  softness  and 


FLEETING   SUNSHINE.  3/ 

bloom  of  her  fair  face.     On  these  grounds  she  had  deter- 
mined upon  becoming  John  Morley's  second  wife. 

Very  naturally  she  resolved  to  put  his  attachment  to 
the  test,  and  not  to  spare  it.  She  found  the  new  house  of 
which  she  was  the  mistress,  gloomy,  and  poverty-stricken 
in  aspect,  and  she  set  her  heart  upon  beautifying  it.  It 
was  a  large,  rambling  old  place,  much  too  large  for  the 
small  family  dwelling  in  it ;  and  she  forecast  her  plans  for 
turning  it  all  into  a  habitation  suitable  to  herself.  But 
here  she  met  a  sudden  and  unexpected  check,  even  in  the 
first  weeks  of  her  married  life.  John  Morley  assured  her, 
with  a  hundred  protestations  of  his  love,  that  he  could  not 
give  her  permission  to  do  as  she  pleased  with  the  dreary, 
half-furnished  rooms.  One  room  should  be  her  own,  he 
said,  the  largest  in  the  house ;  and  she  might  buy  what- 
ever she  chose  for  it.  It  was  a  compromise  which  was 
disagreeable  to  her ;  but  she  resolved  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  Upstairs  there  was  a  large  apartment,  extending  from 
the  front  of  the  house  to  the  back,  and  wainscoted  with 
panels  of  oak  throughout,  which  had  been  hitherto  used  as 
a  warehouse.  This  she  fixed  upon,  insisting  upon  the 
fulfilment  of  her  husband's  promise ;  and  upon  it  she 
lavished  all  her  taste  and  caprice,  while  John  Morley 
looked  on  and  laughed,  as  one  laughs  at  a  child  playing  at 
keeping  house.  It  was  a  pleasant  time  for  Rose.  She 
enjoyed  the  unconditional  permission  given  to  her  with 
the  full  enjoyment  of  one  who  has  always  been  obliged  to 
look  closely  to  her  expenditure ;  with  a  gay  good  nature 
she  gave  up  her  plans  of  embellishing  the  rest  of  the  house, 
while  she  concentrated  herself  upon  this  room  allotted  to 
her.  John  Morley's  home  grew  full  of  sound,  in  the  place 
of  its  unbroken  stillness.  The  blithe  laugh  of  his  young 
wife  rippled  from  room  to  room,  blended  with  the  quieter 
but  happy  tones  of  his  little  girl.     Now  and  then  there 


38  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

came  to  his  ears  notes  of  music  from  Rose's  piano  over- 
head, short,  merry  tunes,  tinkling  through  the  empty  rooms, 
with  a  suggestion  of  dancing  steps  accompanying  them  ; 
though  there  was  no  one  to  dance  except  Hester,  whose 
small  feet  had  never  before  been  set  to  music.  The  time 
was  as  blissful  for  John  Morley  as  for  his  second  wife,  or 
rather,  immeasurably  more  so. 

The  pity  was  that  the  girl  was  no  more  than  a  school- 
girl, with  nothing  but  a  school-girl's  idea  of  happiness. 
She  was  good-natured,  and  good-tempered,  and  quite  wil- 
ling to  do  what  she  could  to  please  her  husband.  But  it 
had  never  entered  her  mind  that  his  companionship  alone 
would  be  sufficient  for  her.  She  had  no  wish  whatever  to 
reign  over  her  new  household  unseen  and  unenvied  by 
her  neighbors.  As  soon  as  her  drawing-room  was  fur- 
nished and  decorated  after  her  own  taste,  she  longed  to 
receive  guests  in  it,  who  would  admire  and  praise  it  to  her 
satisfaction.  There  John  Morley,  reserved  and  self-con- 
tained, made  a  stand.  He  wanted  no  witnesses  to  his 
happiness.  The  people  of  Little  Aston  were  not  of  his 
kind  ;  there  were  none  among  them  who  could  becoms 
his  associates,  or  whom  he  would  choose  to  be  the  friends 
of  his  wife.  On  the  one  hand  were  the  worldlings,  the 
people  who  wasted  their  time  at  the  card-table  or  in  the 
dance  ;  on  the  other  were  the  members  of  the  church,  ig- 
norant and  ill-bred,  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in  common 
beyond  the  religious  conventionalities  of  church  member- 
ship. He  was  separated  from  the  world  and  the  church 
alike.  His  wife  might  welcome  to  his  hearth  the  old  min- 
ister and  his  equally  aged  wife,  whose  gentleness  could 
never  offend  or  displease  him  ;  but  there  was  no  other 
person  whom  he  could  receive  into  his  house  with  the 
cordiality  of  friendship.  Mere  acquaintances  John  Mor- 
ley could  not  understand.     To  eat  bread  at  his  table  was 


FLEETING    SUNSHINE.  39 

a  pledge  of  living  friendliness  between  host  and  guest 
Oil  this  point  no  charm,  or  persuasion,  or  rebellion,  could 
a\nil  his  wife  anything.  He  was  like  a  rock;  and  the 
poor,  silly  girl,  with  her  empty  mind  and  light  heart,  beat 
against  it  in  vain. 

After  the  first  novelty  had  worn  away,  John   Morley, " 
though  retaining  his    passionate  and    proud    love    of  his 
young  wife,  fell  back  into   his  old  studious  habits  ;  lost 
himself,  and  her,  and  all   his  new  life,  in  the  books  which 
came  almost  daily  to  his  hand.     If  she  invaded  his  quiet 
room  where  he  sat  all  day  long,  and  which  was  too  heavy 
and  sombre  for   a  butterfly  creature  like   her,  to  ask  him 
for  some  new  indulgence,  or  to  display  some  new  posses- 
sion, he  put  down  his  book  only  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
soon  grew  absent  if  she  prolonged  her  visit.     He  had  no 
thought    of  any    unkindness    in    this    neglect.       Hester's 
mother  had  been  willing  to  sit  hour  after  hour,  his  silent 
companion,  ready  to  hear  him  if  he  should  like  to  read 
aloud  some  sentence  which  pleased  him  more  than  others, 
a  sentence  which  to  her  stood  alone,  with  none  before  or 
following  it ;  and  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Rose 
would  do  the  same.     Since  she  did  not  do  it,  but  avoided 
his  dull  room,  he  did  not  complain  ;  but  it  never  occurred 
to  him  to  alter  his  own  habits.     Besides,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  few  months  his  eyes  were  opened  to  the  snare  into 
which  he  had  fallen.     He  had  been  guilty  of  a  blunder, 
he  would  not  call  it  a  sin,  which  he  had  formerly  blamed 
harshly  in  others.     He,  a  chief  member  of  the  church,  a 
deacon,  had  entered  into  marriage  with  a  worldly  woman. 
John  Morley's  creed  was  colored  by  his  gloomy  tem- 
perament.    He  began  to  look  upon  Rose,  whom  he  had 
made  his  nearest  and  dearest  companion,  as  a  soul  which 
still  walked  \n  darkness,  under  the  t\'ranny  of  Satan  ;  and 
whose  destiny  was  an  eternal  separation  from  all  goodness 


40  HESTER    MORI.EY'S    PROMISE. 

and  happiness.  The  gayety  and  charms  of  his  young  wife 
began  to  make  his  heart  ache.  He  saw  her  treading 
mirthfully  along  the  path  leading  to  ruin  and  perdition. 
The  possibility  of  eternal  punishment,  which  he  had 
calmly  and  philosophically  considered  from  a  distance, 
'was  brought  into  his  own  home,  he  had  himself  taken  it  to 
his  heart ;  it  was  the  only  dowry  his  wife  had  brought  him. 
In  the  quiet  of  his  room  this  thought  presented  itself  to 
him  with  innumerable  and  stinging  variations — that  the 
voice  which  he  heard  singing  and  babbling  about  his 
house  would  one  day  wail  in  hopeless  anguish,  and  that 
the  heart  which  he  had  won  for  himself  would  be  pierced 
through  with  unutterable  and  unavailing  repentance. 

It  is  no  marvel  that  John  Morley  set  himself  with  his 
whole  heart  and  mind  to  the  task  of  enlightening  and  con- 
verting this  beloved,  but  lost,  soul.  He  argued  with  his 
wife  ;  he  read  to  her  ;  he  prayed  for  her.  He  called  in  the 
minister,  as  he  would  have  called  in  a  physician  had  she 
been  stricken  with  some  malady.  Rose  was  frightened  at 
first,  and  yielded  readily  to  tears.  But  after  a  while  she 
grew  indignant,  and  then  weary.  Never  before  had  it 
been  suggested  to  her  that  anything  was  amiss  in  her. 
She  had  been  christened  and  confirmed,  and  had  been  a 
communicant  of  her  church.  She  ran  over  the  Command- 
ments, and  found  that  she  had  kept  them  from  her  youth 
up.  Certainly  if  she  stood  in  any  kind  of  danger  the 
whole  world  was  full  of  souls  who  were  in  equal,  if  not 
greater,  peril.  All  this  commotion  was  the  result  of  hav- 
ing married  an  austere  and  narrow-minded  man,  who  first 
shut  her  out  from  all  the  pleasures  and  enjoyments  of  her 
age,  and  then  surrounded  her  with  imaginary  tenors. 
She  began  to  harden  herself  against  him  ;  and  resolved  ta 
bring  up  Hester  after  a  fashion  opposed  to  the  strict  rule 
of  her  father. 


FLEETING    SUNSIUXK.  4 1 

If  there  was  any  influence  which  could  have  woii  over 
the  worldly  spirit  of  Rose  Morley  to  the  grave  but  peace- 
ful religion  into  whose  sweet  safety  John  Morley  vainly 
strove  to  drive  her,  it  would  have  been  the  simple  faith  of 
tlie  child,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  technical  phrases  of 
any  creed.  Like  the  child  Christ,  Hester  both  asked  and 
answered  questions  in  such  a  manner  as  to  startle  and 
trouble  the  giddy  mind  of  her  young  stepmother.  But 
how  could  this  gay  and  thoughtless  girl  help  growing 
ft'eary  of  her  monotonous  life,  with  a  husband  always  bur- 
dened with  spiritual  anxieties  for  her,  and  a  child  who 
cared  less  for  the  plays  of  childhood  than  for  the  thoughts 
and  pursuits  of  older  years  ?  She  found  herself  altogether 
out  of  her  element — a  mere  butterfly,  which  had  flown 
heedlessly  into  a  damp  and  chilly  cave,  where  it  could 
only  fold  its  wings,  and  lose  the  brilliant  hours  of  the 
summer  which  was  swiftly  passing  away.  The  merry 
laugh  and  the  tinkling  of  music  ceased  in  the  house  ;  her 
step  grew  languid,  and  her  voice  low  ;  the  blue  eyes  were 
dimmed,  and  the  cheeks  faded  ;  but  John  Morley  saw  in 
the  change  only  what  he  wished  to  see — the  pain  and 
travail  of  a  soul  which  was  struggling  into  life. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

GREAT    FOLKS. 

MR.  WALURON'S  parliamentary  duties  deprived 
the  cliurch  at  Little  Aston  of  his  presence,  and  that 
of  hi:;  daugliter,  during  a  considerable  portion  of  each  year. 
The  church  and  the  minister  were  perhaps  a  little  more 
at  their  ease  during  their  absence  ;  but  they  felt  all  the 
increased  importance  of  their  personal  attendance  at  the 
chapel,  and  their  return  was  anxiously  looked  forward  to. 
It  had  become  a  point  of  etiquette  for  Mr.  Watson  to  pro- 
ceed at  once  to  Aston  Court  as  soon  as  the  rumor  of  their 
arrival  reached  his  ears,  in  order  to  congratulate  himself 
and  them  upon  their  reunion  with  the  little  church  of  which 
they  were  the  most  conspicuous  pillars. 

They  had  come  down  from  London  upon  the  com- 
mencement of  the  long  autumnal  recess,  and  Mr.  Watson 
set  out  the  next  morning  upon  his  visit  of  homage.  Aston 
Court  was  about  a  mile  from  Little  Aston,  but  most  of  the 
road  lay  through  the  fine  old  park  which  surrounded  the 
newly-built  mansion.  Mr.  Waldron  was  a  utilitarian,  and 
had  sold  off  the  deer  which  had  belonged  to  the  former 
owner,  and  divided  his  park  into  regular  divisions,  for  the 
grazing  of  cattle  and  the  growth  of  ha^^  The  new  house 
was  plain,  square,  and  massive,  flanked  by  two  smaller, 
but  equally  formal,  wings.  The  windows  of  plate  glass 
were  of  uniform  size,  distributed  along  the  front  of  the 
building  at  even  distances,  and   one  large  entrance  door, 


GREAT    FOLKS.  43 

with  a  jjortico,  stood  in  the  exact  centre  of  the  ground 
floor.  The  garden  stretching  before  it  was  hiid  out  in 
long,  straight  borders  of  the  same  breadth  and  length  ; 
and  the  trees  separating  it  from  the  park  were  kept  well 
clipped.  The  usual  reception-room,  which  was  the  dining- 
room  of  the  mansion,  was  a  large  handsome  apartment, 
but  heavy  and  dull.  Its  principal  decoration  consisted 
of  two  life-size  portraits  of  Luther  and  Melancthon,  excel- 
lently painted  ;  the  former  hard,  acute,  and  intrepid  ;  the 
latter  soft  and  feminine,  with  mournful  blue  eyes  which 
seemed  weary  of  gazing  upon  life.  There  was  also  above 
the  fireplace  a  richly  illuminated  and  gilded  testimonial, 
signed  by  a  thousand  Nonconformists,— inscribed  to  David 
Waldron  in  gratitude  for  his  eminent  services  in  the  House 
of  Commons  in  defence  and  advancement  of  the  cause  of 
Nonconformity.  The  middle  of  this  apartment  was  filled 
by  a  long  wide  table,  similar  to  those  seen  in  committee 
rooms,  and  covered  with  dark  leather  ;  a  number  of  leather- 
covered  chairs  were  ranged  along  the  walls.  Curtains  of 
deep  crimson  damasks,  always  drawn  a  little  over  the  win- 
dow, shed  a  solemn  light  into  the  room — a  twilight  which 
was  not  mournful  gloom,  but  rather  a  wealthy  and  grand 
obscurity. 

It  was  into  this  reception-room  that  the  minister  was 
ushered.  It  was  Saturday  morning,  and  on  the  next  day 
Mr.  Waldron  and  his  daughter  would  occupy  the  large 
curtained  pew  in  the  corner  of  the  chapel,  which  was 
appropriated  to  their  use.  Miss  Waldron  was  seated  at 
the  table,  a  small  insignificant  person  to  look  at,  but  the 
daughter  of  David  Waldron,  M.  P.  She  received  her 
pastor  with  mingled  fervor  and  condescension,  and  invited 
him  to  a  seat  beside  her.  Mr.  Waldron  soon  joined  them, 
and  a  close  conversation,  a  sort  of  religious  gossip,  about 
the  affajrs  of  the  church  and  its  members,  ensued. 


44  HKSTER    MOR lev's    PROMISE. 

"  Brother  Morley  is  married  again,  as  you  know,"  said 
Mr.  Watson,  after  some  other  subjects  had  been  discussed, 
"and  he  is  beginning  to  feel  sorely  troubled  about  his 
young  wife.  She  remains  the  same  worldly,  thoughtless 
creature  she  was  before  her  marriage." 

*'  Ay  !  ay  !  "  answered  Mr.  Waldron,  shaking  his  head, 
"  we  gave  in  too  soon  there.  You  and  I,  as  well  as  John 
Morley,  were  smitten  with  the  young  woman's  beauty." 

"  Father  I  "  interrupted  Miss  Waldron,  in  a  tone  of 
reproof. 

"  It  is  true,"  continued  Mr.  Waldron  ;  "  I  never  felt  so 
checkmated  in  my  life  as  when  she  appeared  suddenly  in 
the  very  midst  of  our  expostulation  with  John  Morley. 
But  we  must  get  her  into  the  church.  There  must  be 
ways  and  means  of  winning  her  over.  We  will  put  her 
into  Miss  Waldron's  hands." 

Miss  Waldron  was  one  of  those  persons  who  are  never 
called  by  their  Christian  names  even  by  their  nearest 
relatives.  It  is  possible  that,  in  conversation  with  her, 
her  father  or  her  brother  might  sometimes  address  her  by 
it ;  but  it  was  not  known  beyond  her  own  family  circle. 
There  seems  something  significant  in  this  suppression  of 
the  name  by  which  one  is  enrolled  under  the  banner  of 
the  cross. 

"  By  what  means  shall  I  get  at  this  young  woman  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Waldron,  not  at  all  unwilling  to  undertake  the 
conversion  of  Rose  Morley,  and  entering  into  it  as  a  bus- 
iness. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  answered  Mr.  Watson,  in  per- 
plexity. 

"  There  is  my  Sunday-school  class,"  continued  Miss 
Waldron,  "and  my  Mothers'  Meeting  on  Monday,  my 
Wednesday  evening  Bible  Class,  and  my  Saturday  night 
Female  Prayer-meeting." 


GREAT   FOLKS.  45 

"  I  am  afraid  we  could  not  get  her  to  attend  any  of 
these,"  replied  the  minister. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Waldron. 
"  She  is  quite  an  educated  person,"  he  said,  timidly, 
"  and  has  all  the  manners  of  a  lady.  She  has  been  a  gov- 
erness, and  plays  ver}'  well,  and  can  draw.  She  holds 
herself  rather  above  the  rest  of  our  people.  They  are  a 
little  unpolished,  you  know." 

"  I  do  not  see  then  what  can  be  done  in  such  a  case," 
said  Miss  Waldron,  with  a  stiff  and  chilly  air. 

"  I  recollect,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  "  she  has  a  good  deai 
the  manner  of  a  lady  :  and  very  pretty  she  is,  too.  John 
Morley  has  a  sweet-looking  little  girl  by  his  first  wife  ;  I 
like  to  see  that  child  in  chapel.  Miss  Waldron,  I  think 
your  only  way  of  getting  at  her  will  be  to  call  upon  her. 
You  might  invite  her  to  return  your  call.  It  would  do  you 
no  harm,  and,  under  God's  blessing,  might  do  her  a  great 
deal  of  good." 

Miss  Waldron  mused  with  an  impenetrable  face. 
"  Do,  my  dear  j'oung  lad}',"  urged  the  minister  eagerly, 
seeing  a  possible  avenue  by  which  gospel  influences  might 
reach  Rose  Morley's  benighted  soul ;  "  your  rank  and  po- 
sition would  give  you  consequence  in  her  eyes  ;  she  is  a 
girl  to  be  touched  by  them." 

"  Mr.  Watson,"  she  said,  with  some  severity,  "  we  be- 
long to  different  spheres  altogether." 
"  I  know  you  do,"  he  hastened  to  say. 
"  And,"  she  continued,  lifting  her  hand  to  enjoin  silence 
while  she  finished  speaking,  "  there  would  be  a  danger  of 
fostering  her  pride  ;  but  I  will  be  on  my  guard  against 
that.  I  do  not  desire  to  shrink  from  any  cross,  and  I  will 
call  upon  her.  What  else  can  be  done  for  her  soul  may 
occur  to  me  ;  and  it  is  possible  I  may  go  so  far  as  to  invite 
her  here  for  conversation  with  me  upon  her  spiritual  wel- 


46  TIESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

fare.  But  that  is  in  the  future.  For  the  present  you  may 
leave  the  young  person  in  my  hands." 

Mr.  Watson  bowed,  and  thought  it  would  be  judicious 
to  say  no  more  upon  this  subject. 

"  Your  son,"  he  said,  in  a  hesitating  and  deprecating 
tone,  as  if  an.xious  to  express  his  interest  in  him,  yet 
doubtful  how  the  great  man  would  take  it,  "  is  all  well 
with  Mr.  Robert  Waldron .? " 

The  father's  face  clouded  at  the  mention  of  this  name, 
but  there  was  no  anger  against  the  timorous  minister  in 
his  reply.' 

"  No,  no,  my  friend,"  he  answered,  frankly.  "  I  did 
wrong  in  sending  my  boy  to  Eton  and  Oxford.  There 
never  was  a  more  hopeful  lad,  full  of  good  intentions  and 
desires,  before  he  went  from  home.  There  were  as  many 
signs  of  grace  in  him  as  in  Miss  Waldron  ;  but  the  saying 
is  fulfilled,  'One  shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left.'  Yet 
in  part,  if  not  altogether,  it  is  my  sin." 

"It  will  be  all  well  with  him  yet,"  said  the  minister,  in 
a  gentle  tone  of  encouragement ;  "  our  prayers  will  not 
be  unanswered,  though  the  answer  tarry.  Is  he  with 
you  ? " 

"  We  expect  him,  but  only  for  a  few  days,"  said  Mr. 
Waldron  ;  "  our  household  ways  are  too  strict  for  him,  and 
his  habits  are  such  as  I  cannot  tolerate  under  my  roof. 
Yet  he  is  only  gay,  not  vicious,  I  trust.  But  let  us  talk 
about  something  else  ;  my  son  is  no  pleasant  theme  to 
me." 

About  an  hour  later,  Mr.  Watson,  passing  by  J'^hn 
Morley's  shop,  looked  in  for  a  few  minutes  to  announce  to 
him  the  arrival  of  the  Waldrons  and  their  expected  ap- 
pearance at  chapel  the  next  day — intelligence  which  made 
so  much  impression  upon  John  Morley  that  he  remem- 
bered  to  repeat  it   to  his   young  wife  as   she   sat   moping 


GREAT   FOLKS.  47 

and  dull  at  the  tea-table.  It  came  as  a  little  gleam  of 
light  from  the  outer  world,  and  the  effect  produced  by  it 
would  have  been  astounding  to  the  abstracted  husband 
could  he  have  been  made  aware  of  it.  Rose  had  retained 
a  lively  impression  of  the  great  man  whom  she  had  seen 
and  spoken  to  before  her  marriage  ;  and  she  had  often 
cast  furtive  glances  at  his  large,  empty  pew  in  the  chapel, 
to  which  she  accompanied  her  husband  twice  every  Sun- 
day. Mr.  Waldron  was  by  far  the  greatest  man  she  had 
ever  seen. 

The  next  morning  Rose  made  a  very  careful  and  elab- 
orate toilette  •  and  even  John  Morley,  in  the  midst  of  his 
anxious  Sabbath  thoughts  of  her  as  one  still  upon  the 
brink  of  eternal  peril,  could  not  check  the  pleasant  and 
flattering  admiration  which  her  beauty  produced  in  him. 
He  felt  inclined  to  believe,  against  all  reason  and  revela- 
tion, that  she  was  too  fair  to  be  doomed  to  any  misery 
either  in  this  world  or  the  world  to  come.  With  her  hand 
resting  on  his  arm,  he  walked  proudly  up  the  old-fashioned 
street.  The  close  carriage  from  Aston  Court  passed  them 
by ;  and  both  he  and  Rose  caught  the  eye  and  the  hurried 
salutation  of  the  great  ]\Ir.  Waldron  from  his  seat  beside 
his  daughter,  who  looked  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to 
the  left.  The  chapel  was  better  filled  than  ordinary, 
and  the  minister  preached  with  more  than  usual  animation. 
At  the  end  of  the  service,  while  all  the  congregation  were 
standing  up,  but  hanging  back  till  the  owners  of  Aston 
Court  should  take  their  departure,  Mr.  Waldron  presented 
Mrs.  Morley  to  his  daughter,  and  said,  in  a  voice  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  half  through  the  place,  "  Miss  Wal- 
dron intends  to  call  upon  you  at  half-past  eleven  o'clock 
precisely  on  Tuesday  morning  next." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MISS   WAI.DRON. 

AT  half-past  eleven  o'clock  precisely  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, Miss  Waldron,  attired  in  a  gown  of  some  dark- 
brown  stuff,  with  a  brown  bonnet  and  shawl  to  match,  opened 
the  door  of  John  Morley's  shop  with  such  a  jerk  as  to  set 
the  little  bell  tinkling  furiously.  It  caused  Mrs.  Morley  to 
jump  up  nervously  in  her  costly  and  tasty  drawing-room  on 
the  floor  above.  She  had  dressed  herself  and  Hester  in 
very  becoming  and  very  light  morning  dresses,  of  a  pale 
tint,  which  would  not  have  been  unfit  for  the  handsomest 
room  in  Aston  Court;  and,  thus  prepared,  she  awaited  the 
announcement  of  her  distinguished  visitor.  But  Miss  Wal- 
dron positively  declined  to  penetrate  farther  inlo  a  trades- 
man's abode  than  the  room  which  opened  out  of  the  shop. 
It  was  only  because  a  religious  conversation  might  be 
liable  to  interruption  in  the  shop  itself  that  she  did  not  in- 
sist upon  Mrs.  Morley  receiving  her  call  there,  as  a  pro- 
test against  the  wild  supposition  that  there  was  anything 
like  equality  between  them.  But  MissWaldrcn  had  taken 
up  her  cross  this  morning,  and  was  willing  to  bear  it  even 
into  John  Morley's  back  parlor. 

Rose  entered  the  dark,  dull  room  to  which  she  had 
been  summoned  with  a  pretty  bashfulness,  half  matronly 
and  half  girlish  ;  and  Miss  Waldron  met  her  with  an  awk- 
ward embarrassment,  for  fear  of  this  young  person  feeling 
too  free  with  her.  When  the  first  stilT  courtesies  had  been 
exchanged,    Miss    Waldron    took  her  seat  uncomfortably 


MISS    WALDROX.  49 

upon  the  edge  of  a  chair,  and  looked  steadil}',  almost  stern- 
ly, into  the  smiling  face  of  Rose  Morley. 

"  I  have  called  upon  you,"  she  said,  in  an  exhortatory 
/oice,  "  at  the  united  request  of  my  father,  who  is  a  deacon, 
and  Mr  Watson,  who  is  the  pastor  of  the  church  at  Little 
Aston.  They  desired  me  to  see  if  anything  could  be  done 
for  you.  You  do  not  attend  any  of  my  meetings,  so  I  have 
come  to  see  you  here." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  any  meetings,''  answered 
Rose,  apologetically  ;  "  but  I  do  not  think  I  should  feel  at 
home  in  any  of  them.  I  was  not  brought  up  to  going  to 
chapel." 

She  spoke  nervously,  and  seemed  on  the  verge  of  shed- 
ding tears.  Miss  Waldron  felt  satisfied  that  her  very  first 
words  had  made  an  impression  upon  this  frivolous  object 
of  Mr.  Watson's  pastoral  solicitude. 

"  Ah  ! "  she  said,  "  you  were  brought  up  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  Establishment ;  but  now  you  are  brought  to  the 
light  you  ought  to  love  the  light.  A  very  eminent  minister 
told  me  that,  by  my  birth  and  rank.  I  am  set  as  a  candle 
upon  a  candlestick,  and  not  put  in  a  secret  place,  or  under 
a  bushel,  that  they  which  come  in  may  see  the  light." 

She  paused,  and  looked  down  into  her  satchel  with  a 
sigh,  as  if  exhausted  with  shining  too  brilliantly  ;  while 
Rose,  puzzled  and  shy,  could  not  think  of  anything  to  say 
in  response,  and  Hester,  from  her  usual  seat  in  the  old 
arm-chair,  listened  and  looked  inquisitively  at  their  visitor. 

"Ah  !  my  dear  young" — she  was  about  to  say  "per- 
son,'" but  her  eyes  fell  upon  Rose's  sweet  face  and  elegant 
dress,  and  she  checked  herself,  leaving  a  blank  in  her 
address, — "I  came  here  to-dav,  not  out  of  idle  compliment 
to  you  or  your  husband,  but  to  awaken  you  to  the  danger 
of  your  condition.  It  has  been  well  said  that  we  who  have 
the  bread  of  life  should  not  only  invite  our  fellow  sinners 


50  HKSTER    MORLKV'S    I'KO.MISK. 

to  partake,  but  should  carry  it  to  them  and  compel  them 
to  eat.  You  are  perishing,  you  are  famishing  before  my 
eyes  for  lack  of  food,  and  I  must  force  you  to  take  from 
my  hands  what  will  save  you.  It  is  a  necessity  which  is 
'.aid  upon  me." 

Rose's  trouble  and  perplexity  were  increased  indefi- 
nitely by  this  speech,  and  she  looked  from  Miss  Waldron 
to  Hester,  and  back  again  to  Miss  Waldron. 

"I  scarcely  understand,"  she  said,  blushing  deeply; 
*'  you  know  I  have  always  lived  among  Church  people,  and 
I  never  heard  any  one  talk  in  this  manner  before.  I  am 
sure  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  don't  understand  clearly 
about  the  bread  and  the  light.  I  have  been  confirmed, 
and  I  used  to  take  the  Sacrament  sometimes  ;  always  at 
Christmas  and  Easter.  I  am  very  stupid  I  know,  but  I 
scarcely  understand  you." 

"  Do  you  feel  no  unsatisfied  cravings  of  your  immortal 
soul  ?  "  asked  Miss  Waldron. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Rose,  with  increasing 
shamefacedness  ;  "  there  are  a  good  many  things  I  am  not 
satisfied  with.  We  never  have  any  friends  to  come  in  and 
see  us,  and  we  never  go  out  anywhere,  except  to  Mr.  Wat- 
son's. I  expected  to  be  a  great  deal  happier,  and  more 
free,  when  I  was  married  ;  but  I  am  not  so.  Mr.  Morley 
has  no  taste  for  company,  and  I  am  shut  up  here  day  after 
day,  till  I  feel  more  lonely  than  I  could  tell  you." 

"  But  do  you  not  feel  the  load  of  your  sins  ?  "  pursued 
Miss  Waldron. 

''  I  am  sure  I'm  not  very  sinful,"  she  said,  pouting  a 
little ;  "  I'm  not  idle,  or  ill-tempered,  or  cross.  Little 
Hetty  knows  that.  Oh,  no!  Miss  Waldron,  I  don't  break 
the  Sabbath,  or  steal,  or  kill,  or — or  anything  else  that 
breaks  the  Commandments.  No  ;  if  I  had  any  sins  I  would 
own  them.      But  I  am  only  silly.     Yes  ;  I  know  I  am  not 


MISS   WALDROX.  51 

the  clever  person  Mr.  Morley  thought  me  before  he  mar- 
ried me ;  and  he  is  disappointed,  and  I  am  very  dull. 
I  could  not  bear  it  but  for  little  Hetty.  Little  Hetty,  my 
darling,  come  and  kiss  me  this  minute." 

In  the  presence  of  this  strange  visitant,  who  eyed  her 
so  coldly  and  rigidly,  the  poor,  silly,  little  soul  of  Rose 
Morley  felt  a  sudden  need  of  having  the  warm  arms  of  the 
child  round  her  neck,  and  her  fond  young  lips  pressed  to 
her  mouth.  Hester  slipped  down  from  her  chair,  and 
kissed  her  stepmother  affectionately ;  then  standing  beside 
her,  she  turned  her  face  towards  Miss  Waldron. 

"  Indeed  she  does  not  understand,"  she  said,  quaintly 
and  confidentially ;  "  we  two  have  talked  about  it  often 
and  often,  and  she  does  not  feel  like  being  a  very  great 
sinner.  We  know  we  are,  because  we've  been  taught  it 
over  and  over  again  ;  but  she  does  not.  If  we  hadn't  been 
taught  it  so  often,  we  shouldn't  have  believed  it  all  in  a 
minute.  You  wouldn't  believe  you  were  the  chief  of  sin- 
ners if  nobody  had  taught  you  so,  would  you  ? " 

A  dull  red  flush  suffused  Miss  Waldron's  cheek  and 
brow  as  she  listened  to  Hester's  explanation  of  her  step- 
mother's benighted  state.  She  could  not  meet  the  clear 
frank  gaze  of  the  child. 

"I  was  once  a  sinner,"  she  answered,  "when  I  was  a 
little  girl  like  you  ;  but  I  became  a  member  of  the  church 
before  I  was  much  older  than  you  are.  Ever  since  I  have 
had  one  single  object  in  life — the  good  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  with  closed 
eyelids ;  while  Hester,  stroking  her  stepmother's  hand 
gently,  looked  with  a  child's  steady  gaze  into  Miss  Wal- 
dron's face.  Rose  Morley  felt  more  bewildered  and  em- 
barrassed than  ever ;  and  dismissed  from  her  mind  al' 
idea  of  offering  her  guest  any  refreshment. 


52  HESTER    MORLtVS    PKUMISE. 

"I  am  going  now  to  my  tract  district,"  said  Miss  Wal- 
dron,  recalling  herself  to  the  present  moment.  "  I  trust 
you  will  think  over  seriously  what  I  have  said  to  you  ;  and 
may  the  thorns  not  choke  the  good  seed.  Yours  is  a  very 
•^teresting  case.  I  have  here  a  small  book,  written  by 
myself,  which  gives  an  account  of  a  young  woman  who 
died  of  a  broken  heart,  but  whom  I  visited  on  her  death- 
bed, and  brought  to  repentance.  I  will  present  it  to  you, 
Mrs.  Morley.  I  am  about  to  order  a  book  from  your 
husband,  which  you  can  bring  down  to  Aston  Court  your- 
self, when  it  arrives.  It  will  be  a  nice  walk  for  you  and 
Hester  ;  and  we  can  converse  again  upon  this  subject.  I 
am  always  at  home  till  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  I 
employ  two  hours  after  breakfast  in  reading  and  medita- 
tion." 

She  rose  to  take  her  leave,  offering  her  hand  conde- 
scendingly to  Mrs.  Morley,  who  was  in  a  flutter  of  amaze- 
ment and  timidity.  If  there  was  any  doubt  as  to  Rose's 
silliness  there  could  be  none  as  to  the  sweetness  of  her 
temper.  She  could  pout  a  little,  and  she  lost  her  buoyancy 
in  the  dull  atmosphere  of  her  new  home  ;  but  there  was 
no  canker  of  ill-humor  or  pride  in  her  nature.  She  was 
q-Jte  unconscious  of  any  impertinence  in  her  visitor,  and 
was  perfectly  willing  to  carry  anything  down  to  Aston 
Court  for  her.  In  her  simple  heart  she  gave  Miss  Wal- 
dron  credit  for  being  as  saintly  as  she  claimed  to  be  ;  and 
with  a  real  hope  that  she  might  find  in  her  a  guide  and 
friend,  who  would  make  clear  to  her  the  mysteries  of  her 
husband's  creed,  she  looked  forward  eagerly  to  the  oppor 
tunity  of  meeting  with  her  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   LITTLE    RIFT. 

WHETHER  Hester  or  Rose  Morley  felt  the  most 
childish  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  a  visit  to 
Aston  Court  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  latter,  with 
her  sweet  temper  and  imperturbable  self-complacency, 
could  not  be  sensitive  to  any  impertinence  which  did  not 
take  the  form  of  an -open  insult;  so  that  she  looked  forward 
with  delight  to  the  moment  she  would  find  herself  received 
upon  any  terms  in  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Waldron,  Hester 
had  been  there  two  or  three  times  at  the  annual  treat  of 
the  Sunday  scholars,  and  her  imagination  had  been  struck 
with  the  larger  dimensions  and  greater  magnificence  of 
the  house  as  compared  with  her  own  home,  which  she  so 
rarely  quitted. 

The  memorable  morning  came — a  soft  morning  towards 
the  end  of  September,  with  a  fine  and  tender  film  of  mist 
hanging  about  the  autumnal  trees,  and  hiding  the  distant 
prospect.  Already  the  dark  green  of  the  foliage,  which 
had  grown  almost  sombre  with  the  summer's  sultry  heat, 
was  beginning  to  brighten  with  the  tints  of  autumn.  A 
thick,  fine  dew  spangled  the  grass.  The  shadows  cast  by 
the  trees  were  less  clear  and  sharp  than  when  the  sun  had 
shone  through  a  drier  atmosphere.  There  was  a  brisker 
activity  among  the  birds,  who  no  longer  screened  them- 
selves from  the  heat  amidst  the  innumerable  leaves,  but 
fluttered  busily  about ;  while  the  rooks  from  their  rookery 
amidst   the   trees    which   surrounded    Aston    Court  wera 


54  HESTKR    MORI.EV'S    PROMISE. 

winging  their  way  in  battalions  towards  tlie  corn-fields, 
many  of  which  were  already  cleared  of  their  harvest 
sheaves.  Here  and  there,  from  among  the  short  stub- 
ble, started  up  a  covey  of  birds,  with  a  whirr  of  wings  and 
a  swift  flight  out  of  danger;  while  the  hares  crept  timidly 
along  the  tall  grass,  which  had  shot  up  again  in  the  rich 
soil  of  the  park  since  th^  hay  harvest  in  June. 

To  Rose  and  Hester,  coming  from  the  dusty  heart  of 
the  town,  which  was  nearly  as  close  and  crowded  as  the 
centre  of  some  populous  city,  this  park  was  a  very  garden 
of  Eden  ;  and  they  entered  it  with  buoyant  steps.  The 
face  of  John  Morley's  young  wife  had  put  on  its  sweetest 
smile  a)id  fairest  grace.  There  was  not  a  line  upon  it  to 
betray  the  weariness  and  growing  discontent  she  felt  with 
her  dull  life.  In  fact  she  did  not  feel  it  dull  at  that  mo- 
ment, and  she  was  the  creature  of  the  moment.  Her  hus- 
band, and  the  new  home  of  which  she  was  mistress,  were 
as  completey  blotted  out  of  her  mind  as  though  they  had 
no  existence.  The  world  consisted  only  of  herself  and 
Hester,  and  this  beautiful  park,  bathed  in  the  soft  light  of  a 
September  sun.  She  sang  aloud  and  blithely  as  she  trod 
lightly  along  the  path,  with  Hester,  as  happy  as  herself, 
tripping  at  her  side. 

Suddenly  Rose  Morley  stopped,  with  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  and  with  a  movement  as  if  she  were  about  to 
take  flight — a  pretty  and  graceful  movement  which,  with 
hei  heightened  color  and  parted  lips,  lent  to  her  an  addi- 
tional charm  at  a  moment  when  an  additional  charm  was 
not  needed.  They  had  just  turned  a  bend  in  the  drive, 
which  was  hidden  by  a  cluster  of  trees,  and  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  a  young  man,  strolling  idly  along  with  ?.  gun 
upon  his  shoulder.  Though  he  wore  a  velveteen  shooting 
jacket  and  thick  boots,  and  had  no  gloves  on,  he  had  an 
air  of  ease  and   rank,  almnr.*-  amounting  to  dignity,  which 


A    LITTLE    RIFT.  5  5 

often  characterises  those  who  have  never  been  in  a  de- 
pendent position.  He  was  handsome,  and  his  appearance 
was  well  cared  for.  His  face  resembled  a  little  that  of 
Mi  \\''aldron  ;  but  he  was  only  twentN'-two  years  old,  and 
his  expression  was  more  self-satisfied  and  careless  than 
that  of  the  busy  great  man.  It  said,  as  plainly  as  expres- 
sion could  say,  that  he  did  not  like  trouble  in  any  guise. 
His  motto  would  be,  "  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow 
we  die  ! "'" 

"  Rose ! "  exclaimed  this  young  man,  in  an  accent  of 
wonder,  as  he  came  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Morley ;  and 
the  next  instant  he  stretched  out  his  hands,  and  caught  hers 
in  them,  as  if  to  prevent  her  taking  the  flight  which  her 
movement  seemed  to  threaten. 

"  Robert !  oh,  Robert !  "  she  answered  with  a  bright 
smile  and  blush  upon  the  face  she  lifted  up  to  him,  in  an 
attitude  of  childish  and  forgetful  delight,  while  he  spoke 
again  in  quiet  and  hurried  tones. 

"  Whatever  in  the  wide  world  brings  you  here  ?  "  he 
asked,  and  a  fine  ear  might  have  detected  a  slight  tone  of 
vexation  in  his  voice.  "  It  is  two  years  since  we  bade  one 
another  farewell  forever  at  Oxford,  and  I  fancied  that  you 
were  still  there.  Are  you  angr\'  with  me  yet.  Rose  ?  But 
no  ;  you  are  too  good,  too  amiable,  to  be  angry  long. 
You  were  never  angry  with  me,  I  remember,  when  my  be- 
havior was  worst.  Rose,  I  never  met  such  a  dear  girl 
as  you  !  " 

It  seemed  to  strike  him  that  he  had  never  met  with  any 
girl  as  prett}-,  for  he  fastened  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  and 
his  own  assumed  an  air  of  pleasure  and  satisfaction. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  continued,  taking  one  of  her 
gloved  hands  again  in  his,  "  you  are  prettier  than  ever, 
Rose.  There  is  some  change  in  you.  What  is  it  ?  You 
have  losr  tliat  little  governess  primness   I   used  to  tease 


56  HESTKR    MOKIKV'S    PROMISE. 

you  about,  which  never  sat  well  upon  your  fece.  And 
your  dress  is  more  tasty  than  it  used  to  be.  Have  you 
come  into  a  fortune  ?  Has  that  rich  uncle  you  told  me  of 
died,  and  made  you  his  heiress  ?  Tell  me  what  wind  has 
blown  you  into  this  part  of  the  country  ? " 

"  I  am  married,"  said  Mrs.  Morley,  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  Married !  "  repeated  the  young  man,  an  exclamation 
which  he  followed  by  a  low,  long  whistle,  that  brought  his 
dogs  bounding  about  him,  but  he  kicked  them  away  with 
something  of  peevishness  and  irritation  in  his  manner. 
"  Married,  Rose  !  "  he  repeated,  gazing  into  her  conscious 
face.  "  Ah  !  well,  we  were  no  more  than  friends,  you  re- 
member ;  and  we  can  be  that  still.  And  who  is  the  good 
man  ? "  He  tried  to  speak  in  an  easy  tone  of  indiffer- 
ence, but  there  v/as  an  air  of  chagrin  upon  his  face,  which 
escaped  the  downcast  eyes  of  Mrs.  Morley.  She  blushed, 
and  stammered ;  but  at  last  was  compelled  to  speak  re 
mctantly. 

"  He  is  a  very  good  man,"  she  answered  ;  "  his  name  is 
fohn  Morley." 

"  John  Morley  the  bookseller  !  "  ejaculated  the  stran- 
ger. "Why,  Rose,  where  are  your  old  ambitions  flown  to? 
Do  you  forget  that  two  years  ago  nothing  short  of  some 
thousands  a  year  would  satisfy  you,  and  I  had  not  that  to 
offer  you  ?  I,  a  poor  spendthrift,  with  a  hard-hearted 
father,  and  not  even  an  entailed  estate,  so  that  he  could 
cut  me  off  with  a  shilling  if  he  chose.  Oh  !  what  fools  we 
were  !  "  He  spoke  in  mingled  mockery  and  regret,  with  a 
smile  of  bitterness,  which  it  was  impossible  for  Rose  to 
comprehend  ;  for  catching  the  brighter  glitter  of  his  eyes, 
and  the  curl  of  his  lip,  she  smiled  back  again  gaily. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  one  of  her  most  childish  pouts, 
"  but  nobody  else  cared  a  straw  about  me  ;  and  I  might 
have  remained  a  governess  all  my  life." 


A    LITTLE    RIFT.  57 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  answered  coldly;  "  but  are  you  really 
the  Mrs.  John  Morley  I  am  running  away  from':'  Miss 
Waldron  said  at  breakfast  she  expected  you  this  morning, 
and  I  made  haste  to  take  myself  off;  never  thinking — who 
could  think  ? — that  it  was  my  old  friend,  Rose.  We  were 
no  more  than  friends,  were  we?  Do  you  remember  our 
stolen  walks  together,  when  everybody  believed  you  were 
safe  in  bed  ?  Ah,  Rose  !  you  were  not  made  to  be  a  gov- 
erness." 

"No,  I  was  not,"  she  said;  "oh!  I  remember  well. 
But  what  brings  you  here,  Robert  ?  Are  you  visiting 
at  Aston  Court .''  " 

"Ah  !  "  he  said,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  you  only 
knew  me  as  Robert  Hall;  but  my  full  name  is  Robert 
Hall  Waldron  ! " 

He  tried  to  speak  as  if  it  was  the  most  ordinary  thing 
in  the  world  to  suppress  one's  chief  name  ;  and  Rose,  v.-ho 
was  not  critical,  accepted  the  explanation  with  no  other 
feeling  than  one  of  surprise. 

"  Then  you  are  Mr.  Waldron's  son  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why  you  made  me  believe  he  was  a  shocking,  cruel  old 
ogre  !  Oh  ■  for  shame,  sir  !  I  have  seen  him,  and  spoken 
to  him,  and  I  like  him  very-  much  ;  and  I  am  sure,  quite 
sure  and  certain,  that  he  likes  me.  He  was  at  our  house 
yesterday,  and  he  would  make  Mr.  Morley  call  me  to 
speak  to  him,  and  he  said  he  should  like  to  see  me  some- 
times at  Aston  Court,  and  he  hoped  Miss  Waldron  would 
be  my  friend.  There  now  !  And  you  always  told  me  he 
was  such  a  dreadful,  bad,  hard-hearted  old  Turk !  " 

"Ah,  Rose!"  said  Robert  Waldron,  "you  are  the 
same  sweet-tempered  creature  as  ever.  I  could  swear  to 
that  gay  voice  of  yours  amidst  a  thousand — so  clear,  and 
merr\^,  and  sweet.  I  should  like  you  to  speak  to  me  for- 
ever. Do  you  sing  as  vou  used  to  do  ?  Will  vou  sing  fot 
3*  '       • 


58  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

us  at  Aston  Court?  It  will  not  be  so  dull  there  now  you 
are  near  us.  You  must  let  me  come  and  see  you  in  your 
own  home,  or  I  shall  never  believe  you  are  married.  I 
cannot  feel  that  you  are  John  Morley's  wife.  ' 

"Rut  I  am,"  she  answered,  with  a  clear  little  laugh; 
"and  I  have  a  daughter,  too,  Mr.  Robert  Hall  Waldron. 
This  is  my  very  own  little  daughter,  sir !  Hester  Morley." 

He  had  not  been  altogether  unconscious  of  the  child's 
presence  before,  for  it  had  imparted  to  him  a  feeling  of 
more  ease  and  freedom  in  this  unexpected  meeting  with 
Rose.  But  now  he  looked  at  her  more  attentively.  The 
grave  and  noble  face  of  the  child  was  full  of  wonder, 
which  had  something  of  a  vague  sadness  in  it  ;  and 
her  large  earnest  eyes  were  raised  to  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  innocent  reproach.  He  felt  in  an  instant  that  he 
had  wounded  her,  and  it  was  no  part  of  his  nature  to 
hurt  any  one  intentionally.  There  was  no  malice  in  his 
temperament.  He  had  spoken  perhaps  slightingly  of  her 
father — a  slight  which  Rose  had  not  felt,  and  ha  wished  to 
efface  the  painful  impression. 

"  Hester  Morley,"  he  repeated,  as  if  long  familiar  with 
the  name,  "  the  little  girl  I  have  seen  sometimes  at  chapel ! 
Ah !  I  know  you  again,  you  see.  Your  father  is  quite  a 
friend  of  mine,  as  well  as  your  new  mamma.  Do  you  love 
her  very  much  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  much,"  answered  Hester,  earnestly  ;  "  and 
my  father  loves  her  dearly  as  well.  We  are  a  great  deal 
happier  than  we  were  before." 

She  spoke  with  a  childish  fervor  which  touched  the  im 
pressible  nature  of  Robert  Waldron,  and  for  a  moment 
made  him  feel  hardly  innocent  in  his  interview  with  John 
Morley's  silly  young  wife.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to 
let  this  first  encounter  be  the  last.  Yet  no  harm  could 
come  of  their  intercourse  except  a  little  dissatisfaction  and 


A    LITTLE    RIT-r.  5*; 

discontent  on  the  part  of  Rose.  There  had  been  no  posi- 
tive love-making  between  them  in  the  old  times ;  but  now 
that  she  was  married,  to  a  tradesman  too,  she  night  possi- 
bly compare  him  with  her  husband,  to  the  disadvantage 
of  the  latter.  Still,  he  did  not  quite  like  to  lose  sight  of 
an  old  friend  ;  and  his  own  home  was  very  dull.  The  de- 
cision was  too  much  trouble  for  him,  and  he  resolved  to 
cast  it  upon  a  chance.  If  this  grave  and  innocent  child 
gave  him  permission  to  enter  their  secluded  home,  he 
would  take  it  as  a  sign  that  no  harm  could  come  of  it. 
He  would  not  for  the  world  disturb  the  peace  of  John 
Morley  or  his  wife  ;  but  he  could  not  quite  make  up  his 
mind  to  see  no  more  of  Rose.     Hester  should  decide  it. 

"  May  I  come  to  see  you  at  your  own  home,  little 
Hester?"  he  asked,  with  his  most  pleasant  smile  and 
voice. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  very  much?"  she  asked, 
with  a  wistful  look  into  his  eyes. 

"Very  much,"  he  answered. 

"Then  we  shall  like  you  to  come,"  answered  Hes- 
ter, holding  out  her  hand  to  him,  as  if  to  assure  him  of  a 
welcome.  Robert  Waldron  clasped  the  little  fingers  in  his 
own,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  reverence  for  the  child's 
faith  in  him  ;  and  when  he  released  them  he  took  off  his 
hat  w^ith  an  unaccustomed  deference,  and  bidding  them 
good-bye,  pursued  his  way  along  the  park,  while  Hester 
and  Rose  Morley  went  on  to  Aston  Court 

Miss  Waldron  received  them  with  a  distant  approach 
to  cordiality,  which  was  more  than  enough  to  satisfy  Rose. 
She  enjoyed  being  in  the  spacious  rooms,  with  a  wide  gar- 
den and  park  stretching  before  the  windows.  There  was 
nothing  narrow,  confined,  or  sordid  in  this  place  of  w-ealth  : 
and  her  spirit  expanded  in  it.  She  felt  more  at  home, 
*<ven  here  in  Miss  Waldron's  austere  presence,  than  in  the 


6o  trKSTER    MORLEY'S    PRClMISE. 

close,  dark,  built-in  rooms  of  her  husband's  house.  Hap 
pily,  both  she  and  Hester  gave  satisfaction,  upon  the 
who.e,  to  their  patroness.  In  the  amiable  yielding  of  Rose 
she  saw  material  for  moulding  a  Christian  after  her  own 
model ;  and  Hester  would  soon  bud  into  an  infant  prodigy 
of  grace.  Mr.  Waldron  came  in  before  they  left ;  and 
Miss  Waldron  graciously  seconded  his  invitation  to  come 
again  soon  to  Aston  Court.  Naturally,  the  fresh  charm 
of  Rose  Morley's  pretty  face  had  more  effect  upon  the 
elderly  hard-worked  man  than  upon  his  daughter ;  but  both 
were  well  pleased  to  have  her  appear  occasionally  to  re- 
lieve the  tedium  of  a  country  life. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NEW   HOPES, 

THE  intercourse  between  Miss  Waldron  and  Mrs. 
John  Morley  ripened  into  a  kind  of  intimacy  which 
continued  crude  and  raw  at  its  nearest  approach  to  mel- 
lowness ;  a  sour  grape  whicli  would  have  set  on  edge  any 
other  teeth  than  those  of  the  dull  and  weary  young  wife. 
It  was  the  first  winter  of  her  married  life,  and  she  seized 
eagerly  upon  every  chance  and  every  excuse  for  going  to 
Aston  Court.  It  was  at  least  an  opportunity  for  display- 
ing the  too  costly  and  elegant  dresses  which  were  lost  in 
the  seclusion  of  her  own  home.  Miss  Waldron  sharply 
reproved  her  for  them,  and  Rose  meekly  promised  to  buy 
no  more  when  they  were  done  with  ;  but  in  order  to  wear 
them  out,  it  was  needful  to  wear  them,  and  Miss  Waldron 
was  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  logic  of  her  argument. 
Mr.  Waldron  liked  to  see  the  pretty  girl  about  his  house, 
and  to  hear  her  pleasant  voice,  now  speaking,  now  sing 
ing,  just  as  he  willed ;  while  Robert,  in  sheer  idleness 
and  without  thought,  loitered  at  home,  instead  of  going  off 
on  some  autumn  tour  as  usual,  satisfied  with  the  little  rip- 
ple of  excitement  which  the  near  vicinity  of  Rose  kept 
stirring  gently  about  him. 

Nor  was  John  Morley  at  all  discontent  with  his  wife's 
new  friendships.  They  had  restored  her  old  brightness 
and  buoyancy,  and  they  afforded  her  a  pleasant  society 
without  entailing  upon  him  the  dreaded  necessity  of  re 
ceiving  and  entertaining  guests  in  his  own  house  ;  for  it  is 


02  HESTER    MORI.EV  S    PROMISE. 

needless  to  say,  that  it  entered  into  the  imagination  of  no 
one  to  conceive  the  idea  of  Miss  Waldron  visiting  famil- 
iarly under  the  tradesman's  roof.  Robert  Waldron  came 
often  ;  and  Mr.  Waldron,  whenever  he  had  business  tc 
transact  with  his  brother  deacon,  no  longer  tarried  in  the 
shop,  but  entered  the  room  behind  ;  when  by  opening  the 
door,  and  calling  in  sonorous  tones  for  Mrs.  Morley  and 
Hester,  he  was  always  sure  of  securing  a  few  minutes' 
lively  chat,  such  as  had  a  wonderful  flavor  for  the  dry, 
hard  mind  of  the  puritanical  man.  But  Miss  Waldron 
came  never.  Still,  John  Morley  was  not  disturbed.  He 
was  too  democratic  to  trouble  himself  with  questions  of 
superiority'  and  inferiority  in  the  social  scale.  He  believed, 
and  he  had  no  reason  to  believe  otherwise,  that  Miss  Wal- 
dron was  a  young  woman  of  eminent  piet}' ;  all  the  church 
said  so,  and  every  word  and  look  of  her  own  asserted  it. 
She  was  interesting  herself  in  the  conversation  of  his 
young  wife,  so  beloved,  yet  so  worldly,  whose  condition 
weighed  heavily  upon  his  spirit,  and  caused  him  hours  oi 
painful  and  accusing  thought.  He  thanked  God  fervently 
for  this  intimacy  ;  and  a  brighter  glow  of  brotherly  feeling 
toward  the  Waldrons  was  kindled  in  his  heart. 

About  this  time,  also,  there  were  new  hopes  cherished 
by  Mr.  Waldron  for  his  son.  There  had  been  such  hopes 
before,  brooded  over  and  fostered  in  secret ;  but  while 
they  were  still  callow  and  unfledged,  some  fresh  outbreak 
of  Robert's  had  always  caused  them  to  perish.  He  was 
not  vicious  ;  he  had  never  yet  been  guilty  of  any  fla- 
grant crime  ;  and  in  the  eyes  of  most  fathers  he  would 
have  seemed  a  sufficiently  promising  son.  But  Mr.  Wal- 
dron, like  John  Morley,  could  not  be  content  with  anything 
short  of  a  decided  change  from  the  careless  freaks  of  youth 
to  the  complete  devotion  of  himself  to  religion.  He  had 
put    botli  his    children    under    a  forcing    frame,    and    his 


NEW    HOPES.  t^ 

flaugliter  had  bloomed  into  the  blossom  he  had  hoped  for ; 
though  in  his  secret  soul  he  marvelled  at  the  scanty  sweet- 
ness and  beauty  of  the  growth.  But  it  was  not  so  with 
his  son.  Instead  of  becoming  the  strong,  staunch  dissen- 
ter he  wished  for,  he  had  developed  into  a  lax  indifferent- 
ism,  composed  partly  of  indolence  and  partly  of  disgust. 
He  had  always  been  anxious  to  abridge  his  visits  at  home, 
and  prolong  those  listless  sojourns  abroad  which  he  pro- 
fessed to  enjoy.  But  this  autumn  he  seemed  in  no  hurry 
to  quit  Aston  Court.  He  submitted  himself  to  the  rigor- 
ous rules  of  his  father's  house  ;  was  quiet  and  thoughtful  ; 
attended  chapel  regularly  every  Sunday  morning,  and  not 
unfrequently  in  the  evening.  In  fact,  his  conduct  was 
blameless,  except  that  he  would  not  listen  to  the  exhorta- 
tions and  reproofs  of  his  sister.  In  his  secret  heart  Mr. 
Waldron  foretasted  the  joy  which  the  angels  in  heaven 
would  experience  over  his  son's  repentance. 

The  visits  of  Robert  Waldron  to  John  Morley's  house 
were  ostensibly  paid  to  Hester.  The  child  attached  her- 
self to  him  with  a  very  frank  and  very  warm  affection ;  and 
his  easy  nature,  which  found  great  delight  in  the  admir- 
ation and  love  of  others,  returned  her  fondness.  Never 
did  a  man — he  was  scarcely  more  than  a  boy  yet — drift 
more  aimlessly  into  a  strong  current  of  temptation.  He 
veiy  seldom  saw  John  Morley,  who  kept  close  to  his  busi- 
ness ;  but  Rose's  drawing-room  became  his  most  frequent 
resorL 


CHAPTER   X. 

SUNDAY   VISITORS. 

IT  was  a  Sunday  evening  in  the  depth  of  winter,  with 
a  keen,  bitter  wind  whistling  round  the  house,  and 
moaning  under  the  gables,  and  with  a  thick  carpet  of  snow 
scarcely  trodden,  lying  in  the  narrow  street.  John  Mor 
ley  was  gone  to  chapel  without  his  wife,  who  had  been 
slightly  ailing  all  the  week  ;  and  Hester  had  stayed  at 
home  to  be  her  companion.  Both  the  servants  were  gone 
out  also.  Though  she  was  really  somewhat  unwell,  never 
had  Rose  look  so  pretty  as  this  night,  with  a  lace  cap  half 
covering  her  fair  hair,  and  a  bright-colored  shawl  hanging 
gracefully  about  her,  and  forming  a  strong  contrast  to  the 
unusual  delicacy  of  hen  face.  The  drawing-room,  where 
she  was  sitting  with  Hester,  was  well  lit  up  ;  and  a  passer- 
by, if  there  were  any,  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  bright- 
ness of  the  light  within,  if  he  did  not  hear  the  tones  of  the 
piano  which  Rose  was  playing,  not  being  ill  enough  to 
give  up  that  pleasure.  Apparently  some  one  had  seen  the 
light,  and  heard  the  music,  for  there  was  a  knock,  twice 
repeated,  at  the  house  door. 

Hester  lighted  a  candle,  and  went  downstairs  alone,  for 
she  had  promised  her  father  faithfully  not  to  let  Rose  be 
exposed  to  any  cold  air  during  his  absence.  The  key  was 
hard  to  turn  in  the  lock,  and  she  had  to  put  both  her 
hands  and  all  her  strength  to  it ;  but  at  last  it  yielded,  and 
she  opened  the  door  cautiously.     A  tall  figure,  well  wrap- 


SUNDAY    VISITORS.  05 

ped  up,  and  sprinkled  with  snow,  stood  upon  the  door  sill ; 
but  Hester's  momentary  alarm  was  quickly  pacified  by 
hearing  a  friendly  and  familiar  voice. 

"  Is  your  father  at  home,  dear  little  Hett}'  ?  "  inquired 
Robert  Waldron. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  answered  Hester,  still  holding  the  door  in 
her  hand,  and  keeping  the  untimely  visitor  on  the  outside ; 
"  he  went  to  chapel  nearly  half  an  hour  ago,  and  he  will 
not  come  home  till  late,  because  there  is  some  meeting 
after  the  sermon.  Do  you  want  to  see  him  very  much, 
Mr.  Robert  ? " 

"  Not  particularly,"  he  said ;  "  only  Miss  Waldron, 
who  is  not  able  to  come  up  to  chapel  to-night,  told  me  to 
inquire  how  your  mother  is.  Is  she  at  home,  my  dear 
Hett>'  ?  ••' 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hester  ;  "  did  you  not  hear  her  playing 
before  you  knocked  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  is  too  poorly  for  me  to  come  in  and 
see  her  ? "  he  said. 

"Oh,  no  !"  she  cried  eagerly,  "if  you'd  please  to  come 
in.  Only  you  must  take  off  your  great  coat,  for  it  is  cov- 
ered with  snow,  and  you  must  not  touch  her  with  your 
cold  hands.  My  father  never  touches  her  when  his  hands 
are  cold." 

She  had  admitted  him  into  the  old-fashioned  entrance, 
which  had  a  kitchen  grate,  and  many  doors  entering  in:  0 
it,  with  the  staircase  running  up  one  side  of  it;  and  she 
had  already  turned  the  key  again  in  the  lock,  while  Robert 
stood  twirling  his  hat  upon  his  hand,  with  an  aspect  of 
hesitating  irresolution.  Hester,  after  locking  the  door, 
approached  to  take  from  him  his  hat  and  coat. 

"  You  are  sure  I  shall  do  no  harm  by  seeing  your 
mamma,  Hetty  ?  "  he  asked,  again  leaving  the  decision  0/ 
his  conduct  to  the  unconscious  answer  of  the  child. 


66  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said  gayly  ;  "  she  is  not  so  very  poorly, 
and  she  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  so  shall  I. 
Please  to  follow  me  upstairs." 

She  tripped  up  lightly  before  him,  holding  the  candle 
high  above  her  head,  and  looking  back  now  and  then  with 
a  half-childish,  half-womanly  smile.  He  was  in  Rose's 
diawing-room,  speaking  to  her,  while  Hester  held  both  his 
hands  to  prevent  his  touching  her,  before  he  had  well  col- 
lected his  thoughts.  He  sank  into  the  seat  Hester  placed 
for  him  near  the  fire,  feeling  himself  in  a  kind  of  dream,  in 
which  his  mind  or  conscience  dare  not  stir,  for  fear  of  dis- 
pelling the  fleeting  vision.  He  was  afraid  to  think  ;  but 
from  time  to  time  he  glanced,  almost  timidly,  at  the  sweet 
pallor  of  Rose's  face,  and  the  clear  but  gentle  lustre  of  her 
eyes.  How  much  more  lovely  she  was  than  when  he  had 
known  her  three  years  ago  !  They  had  not  much  to  say 
to  one  another ;  but  Rose  sighed  at  times,  and  then  his 
eyes  were  raised  to  her  face  with  an  air  of  perplexity  and 
sadness.  He  took  Hester  upon  his  knee,  and  read  to  her 
that  charming  child's  book,  "The  Story  without  an  End." 
Though  he  read  well,  he  was  not  conscious  of  a  word  be- 
yond the  title;  but  he  knew  that  Rose  was  listening;  and 
Hester's  arm  round  his  neck,  and  her  soft  cheek  upon 
his  shoulder,  made  him  feel  weaker  than  a  reed,  with 
some  subtle  and  clinging  influence  winding  about  him  he 
knew  not  how.  The  sound  of  his  own  voice  was  the  only 
sound  that  could  be  heard  ;  for  if  there  were  any  footsteps 
in  the  streets  on  a  Sunday  night  at  this  hour  of  Divine 
service,  they  fell  noiselessly  upon  the  snow.  Suddenly, 
upon  the  utter  quiet,  there  came  the  sharp  and  noisy  bang 
of  a  door  falling  to  in  some  part  of  the  house  ;  and  Rob- 
ert started  nervously  from  his  chair,  and  looked  about 
him  as  if  for  some  means  of  escape,  or  place  of  conceal 
meut 


SUNDAY   VISITORS.  (i^ 

"  Why  it  is  only  a  door  slamming  somewhere,"  said 
Hester,  with  a  little  laugh  of  amusement ;  "  I  must  go  and 
shut  it,  or  else  it  will  be  frightening  you  again." 

"  Snail  I  come  with  you  ? "  asked  Robert. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  answered  the  child,  assuming  a  fine 
tone  of  superiorit}',  "/am  not  frightened.  What  is  there 
to  be  afraid  of?  Besides,  I  must  go  and  see  that  the 
kitchen  fire  is  not  gone  out,  and  you  must  not  go  there 
with  me." 

She  lighted  a  candle,  and  went  out  into  the  dark  pas- 
sage, screening  the  scarcely  lit  flame  with  her  hand. 
Downstairs  ran  her  small,  nimble  feet ;  and  then  Hester 
almost  uttered  a  shrill  scream  of  terror.  In  the  middle  of 
*he  lobby  stood  a  bent  and  spare  figure,  more  sprinkled 
with  snow  than  Robert  had  been,  and  with  a  faint  halo  of 
light  shining  about  it  from  a  little  lamp,  which  was  on  the 
point  of  dying  out.  In  another  moment  she  had  recog- 
nized Lawson,  whose  sunken  eyes  were  glancing  restlessly 
around  him,  as  he  drew  off  his  hea\y  boots,  and  set  them 
cautiously  on  one  side. 

"  Is  that  you,  Lawson  ? "  asked  Hester,  her  heart  still 
beating  fast  with  fear. 

"Yes,  it's  me,"  he  answered;  "I'm  uneasy  to-night, 
and  I  came  down  to  see  that  all  was  safe.  Let  us  look  in 
here  first." 

Upon  the  other  side  of  the  lobby  was  a  door  into  Mr. 
Morley's  own  room  ;  and  he  stole  noiselessly  across  the 
quarried  floor,  and  opened  it  without  a  sound.  There  was 
the  light  only  of  a  low  fire,  of  embers  glowing  without 
flame,  and  everything  looked  dim  and  indistinct  by  it. 
He  looked  around  the  room  eagerly  and  keenly,  and  then 
turned  to  Hester,  who  had  fellowed  him  closely. 

"  Miss  Hester,"  he  whispered,  in  thick  and  hurried 
tones,  "  I  thought  I  should  find  your  mother  here." 


68  HESTER    MORl.EV'S    PROMISE. 

"  She  is  upstairs  in  the  drawing-room,"  she  answered  ; 
"only  Mr   Robert  is  there,  too." 

"  No,  .lOt  her  !  not  her!  "  he  said  impatiently  ;  "  I  mean 
your  own  mother.  Don't  you  know,  deary,  I've  never  set 
eyes  on  her  since  John  Morley  brought  a  strange  wom- 
an mto  the  house — never  ?  Though  my  work  all  goes 
wrong,  and  my  hand  has  lost  its  cunning,  she  never  comes 
back  to  show  me  what  to  do.  But  to-night,  while  I  was 
at  chapel,  it  came  all  at  once  into  my  mind  that  I  should 
find  her  sitting  here  alone  in  the  house,  crying  and  sob- 
bing, with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  I  fancied  she'd 
be  there  in  her  own  old  place ;  but  maybe  she  is  upstairs 
in  my  work-room." 

"But  didn't  you  know  s/w  was  ill?"  asked  Hester,  not 
venturing  to  call  Rose  "  mother"  in  Lawson's  hearing. 

"No.  Ill  is  she?"  he  said  eagerly  ;  "perhaps  she'll 
die.  Your  mother  died  easily.  Miss  Hester.  But  I'm 
going  upstairs.     Will  you  come  with  me,  little  one  '? " 

He  called  her  "  little  one"  in  a  tone  of  such  strange 
and  pathetic  tenderness  that  Hester  put  her  hand  in  his, 
though  she  was  trembling  with  an  undefined  fear.  They 
went  out  together  into  the  snowy  court  first,  to  look  up  to 
the  lattice  window  in  the  high  gable.  The  snow  hung 
about  it  with  a  ghostly  gleam,  and  the  moon  shining  \vanly 
upon  its  diamond  panes  made  them  glimmer  as  if  with 
some  feeble,  unearthly  light  within.  Lawson  lifted  Hester 
in  his  arms  and  mounted  the  outer  staircase,  which  led  to 
the  old  printing-office.  Passing  through  this  they  came  to 
the  foot  of  the  attic  steps,  winding  up  into  the  pale  dark- 
ness above.  Still  carrying  her  in  his  arms,  Lawson  as- 
cended them  swiftly  but  soundlessly,  as  if  fearful  of  scar- 
ing away  some  timid  and  easily  startled  presence.  The 
room  was  full  of  light  from  the  moon,  which  shone  directly 
upon  the  casement — a  visionary  light,  in  which  the  most 


SUNDAY   VISITORS.  69 

familiar  objects  assume  an  unreal  aspect.  There  stood 
his  press,  and  his  tools  growing  red  with  rust ;  and  there 
the  shelves  of  books,  whose  gilded  bindings  shone  palely 
in  the  gloom.  But  the  room  was  empty.  There  was  no 
shadowy  figure,  sitting  alone,  with  its  tearful  face  hidden 
in  the  hands.  Hester  looked  around  with  mingled  dread 
and  love  of  this  unknown  mother,  so  often  felt  to  be  pres- 
ent by  the  man  whose  heart  she  could  feel  beating  strongly 
with  anticipation.  But  neither  of  them  could  detect  the 
form  they  sought  in  the  dimness/  and  Lawson  put  down 
Hester  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  attic,  with  gestures 
of  lamentation  and  despair. 

"  If  she  would  only  come  again  !  "  he  cried,  wringing 
his  hands  ;  "  if  she  would  but  bring  me  back  the  cunning 
of  my  right  hand  !  But  I  have  lost  it,  and  nobody  can  re- 
store it  to  me,  save  her.  Oh  !  come  back !  For  the  sake 
of  your  little  child,  come  back !  " 

A  fantastic  paroxysm  took  possession  of  the  usually 
silent  and  reticent  man.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  and 
prayed  with  groans  and  cries  and  strong  wrestlings  of 
the  body,  as  if  he  could  prevail  by  those.  He  called 
aloud  upon  the  shadow  to  return  and  to  take  form  again 
before  his  eyes.  He  bemoaned  the  loss  of  his  art,  as  if 
it  had  gone  from  him  forever,  while  Hester  stood  at  his 
side,  terrified  yet  brave,  willing  to  welcome  this  vision,  if 
his  prayers  should  be  heard  and  granted.  But  no  answer 
came.  The  pale  light  fell  steadily  into  the  room,  but  it 
revealed  no  apparition.  Lawson's  voice  grew  faint,  and 
his  sobs  feeble  ;  but  no  spectral  messenger  came  to  as- 
suage his  passion  ;  and  at  last,  worn  out  and  exhausted 
he  clasped  Hester's  hand  again  in  his  own  nerveless  fin- 
ders, and  descended  the  stairs  in  silence. 

Upon  the  second  floor  there  "was  a  door  of  communi- 
cation between  the  work-room  and  the  rest  of  the  house, 


70  HESTER   MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

and  through  this  Lawson  and  Hester  passed.  A  thin 
line  of  light  from  beneath  the  drawing-room  door  shone 
across  the  farthest  end  of  the  passage,  and  caught  Law- 
son's  eye. 

"Miss  Hester,"  he  whispered,  "just  let  me  look  into 
the  other  room,  where  the  light  is — the  grand  new  room, 
you  know.' 

"  She  is  there,"  answered  Hester,  with  a  shrewd  look 
upon  her  white  face. 

"  Ah  !  but  your  mother  may  be  there  as  well,  who 
knows  ?  "  persisted  Lawson  :  "  you  open  the  door  quietly, 
and  I'll  peep  in  over  your  shoulder.  I  saw  her  as  plain 
as  could  be  only  an  hour  ago." 

Hester  led  him  up  to  the  door  of  the  room,  where 
Rose  Morley  was  sitting,  and  turned  the  handle  with  the 
utmost  caution.  They  gazed  in  together,  unheard  and  un- 
seen. To  Hester's  surprise,  Robert  Waldron  was  no  longer 
there  ;  but  Rose  sat  in  her  chair  before  the  fire,  with 
her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  and  sobbing  in  deep  drawn 
sobs.  Lawson  caught  his  breath,  and  grasped  Hester's 
hand  in  an  unconscious  gripe  of  iron  ;  but  she  did  not 
utter  any  cry.  They  stole  downstairs  again  into  the  lob- 
by, and  then  Hester  saw  upon  his  face  an  expression  of 
complete  bewilderment  and  perplexity.  Once  more  he 
peered  into  John  Morley's  dimly-lighted  room  ;  and  then, 
shaking  his  head  doubtfully,  he  opened  the  outer  door, 
through  which  the  snow  came  drifting  in  in  large  flakes, 
and  still  with  a  troubled  look  upon  his  face  he  bade  the 
child  good-night,  and  went  out  into  the  quiet  street. 


CHAPTER  Xi 

DEEPENING   SHADOWS. 

AGAIN  the  sunshine  had  forsaken  the  home  of  John 
Morley,  or  only  visited  it  in  uncertain  gleams  of  fit- 
ful brightness.  There  were  seasons  when  his  young  wife 
sought  his  dull  room  as  if  it  were  a  safe  refuge,  or  a  holy 
sanctuary  ;  and  sat  there  silent  and  inactive  in  the  great 
antique  chair,  where  Hester's  mother  had  been  wont  to  sit 
and  watch  him  with  fond  eyes,  while  he  worked  among  his 
beloved  books.  Once  or  twice,  in  his  absence  of  mind,  he 
had  spoken  to  her  without  looking  up,  and  called  her  by 
the  other  name,  still  cherished  and  familiar  in  his  thoughts  • 
and  then  Rose  nad  started  up  quickl}',  and  fled  from  the 
room,  while  he  had  been  all  unconscious  of  the  blunder  of 
his  tongue.  It  was  a  very  troubled  though  profound  love 
which  John  Morley  felt  for  this  girl,  so  much  younger  both 
in  life  and  heart  than  himself;  but  it  struck  deeper  roots 
into  his  nature  every  day,  in  part  because  it  was  so 
troubled.  Hester's  mother  had  been  his  equal,  and  they 
had  confronted  the  difficulties  of  life  side  by  side  ;  mutual 
helpers,  with  the  self-same  thoughts  and  the  self-same  hope 
in  the  future.  This  love,  which  had  possessed  the  equality 
of  friendship,  had  been  a  strength  to  him — a  serene  satisfac- 
tion, which  had  been  all-sufficing  while  it  was  his,  but  the 
jOss  of  which  had  robbed  him  of  even  his  natural  energy 
and  content.  But  for  Rose  he  took  the  position  of  a  pro- 
tector and  guardian ;    he  stood  before  her  to  shield  her 


72  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

from  the  unknown  ills  of  the  future.  There  was  a  charm 
and  sweetness  in  this  which  had  been  lacking  in  the  more 
equal  marriage  with  Hester's  mother.  Even  his  anxiety 
about  her  spiritual  welfare, — a  little  exaggerated  by  the 
speculative  questions  into  which  his  mind  naturally  ran, — 
inv'ested  her  with  deeper  and  more  fascinating  interest;  and 
Rose  herself  would  have  been  startled,  and  would  have 
shrunk  from  him  in  dread,  if  she  could  have  looked  into 
her  husband's  heart,  and  seen  how  she  engrossed  his 
thoughts,  his  hopes,  and  his  prayers. 

She  was  standing  behind  his  chair  one  morning,  look- 
ing down,  he  could  not  see  how  sadly,  upon  his  bowed 
head,  where  white  lines  were  mingling  with  the  dark  hair. 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  it  at  last,  softly  and  reverently  ; 
and  as  he  turned  smilingly  to  her,  he  caught  the  expres- 
sion, half  sorrowful  and  half  frightened,  imprinted  upon 
her  fair  face. 

"Why,  what  ails  you,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  putting 
his  arm  about  her,  while  Rose  sank  down  upon  her  knees 
beside  him  ;  "  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  Rose  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  she  sobbed ;  "  only  I  am  such  a 
silly  young  thing,  and  you  are  so  wise  and  good  !  There 
is  such  a  dreadful  gulf  between  us  two  ;  and  it  will  always 
be  there,  forever,  and  ever,  and  ever !  I  shall  always  be 
silly  and  wicked,  and  you  will  always  be  wise  and  good. 
Oh,  why  did  you  ever  marry  such  a  creature  as  me?" 

"  Why  ?  "  said  John  Morley  earnestly  ;  "  because  T 
loved  you  with  my  whole  heart ;  and  I  love  you  still  more, 
Rose,  if  that  be  possible,  now  you  have  been  my  wife  for 
more  than  a  year.  But  it  was  selfish  of  me — a  man's 
selfishness  ;  and  I  do  not  know  how  to  make  you  happy 
now  you  belong  to  me." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  Rose,  ''  it  was  not  selfish.  Il 
was  good,  too  good  of  you  !     You  said — or  you  might  have 


deki'Kxim;  siiAiJuws.  73 

said — to  yourself,  *  Here  is  a  poor,  giddy,  thoughtless  but 
terfly,  just  dancing  and  idling  her  precious  life  away  ;  and 
L  a  wise  and  good  man,  will  take  it  into  my  own  house, 
and  give  all  my  wisdom  and  goodness  to  the  task  of  mak- 
ing it  like  myself  now  and  in  the  world  to  come.'  But  you 
cannot ;  no,  you  cannot.  I  ought  never  to  have  been  the 
wife  of  a  good  man  !  I  ought  never,  never  to  have  become 
the  mother  of  little  Hetty  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  ought,"  answered  John  Morley,  stroking  the 
soft  hair  and  the  burning  cheek  which  would  have  dried 
up  any  tears,  had  any  fallen  upon  it ;  "  my  house  is  not 
the  same  since  you  entered  it.  Rose.  You  have  made  us 
nappy,  Hester  and  me ;  more  happy  than  we  can  tell  you. 
Is  there  anything  that  troubles  you  specially,  my  love? 
Tell  me,  and  if  it  be  within  my  power  the  trouble  shall  be 
removed.  And  if  it  be  not,  we  will  pray  God  together 
either  to  take  it  away,  or  sanctify  it  for  your  good." 

"  No,  there  is  nothing,"  answered  Rose,  kissing  his 
hand  again  and  again,  "  unless  you  could  take  me  away 
from  myself,  unless  you  could  make  me  somebody  else  but 
the  silly,  giddy,  wicked,  good-for-nothing  creature  I  am  ! 
If  you  could  only  make  me  like  Hester's  mother  !  If  you 
could  only  make  me  like  Hester  !  " 

Her  voice  died  away  in  sobs,  and  her  tears  came  in 
torrents  now,  while  John  Morley,  distressed  and  bewil- 
dered, could  only  soothe  her,  as  he  would  have  soothed  a 
child,  till  the  first  hysterical  paroxysm  had  passed  over, 
and  he  could  place  her  in  the  old  easy-chair,  and  hasten 
to  bring  some  water  for  her  to  drink.  She  was  very  quiet 
and  subdued  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  remained  in 
the  gloomy  room  with  her  husband,  smiling  faintly  when- 
ever she  caught  his  anxious  eye  ;  but  at  other  times  regard- 
ing his  grave  face,  and  his  hair  streaked  with  grey,  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  pity  and  dread. 
4 


74  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

It  was  only  in  the  evening,  when  Hester's  bedtime 
came,  that  she  quitted  her  husband's  presence  to  go  up- 
stairs to  Hester's  room  ;  not  to  help  her  to  undress,  for 
the  child  had  been  long  accustomed  to  do  everything  for 
herself,  but  to  sit  watching  her,  and  waiting  to  kiss  her 
when  she  was  in  bed.  When  Hester  knelt  down  to  pray, 
Rose  bowed  her  head,  and  clasped  her  hands,  as  if  joining 
in  the  child's  inaudible  petitions :  a  sign  of  grace  which 
would  have  caused  the  heart  of  her  husband  to  throb  for 
joy.  She  laid  her  head  down  upon  Hester's  pillow  with 
her  lips  close  to  her  ear,  after  having  put  out  the  light,  and 
spoke  to  her  in  the  darkness. 

"  Little  Hetty,"  she  said,  "  would  you  rather  live  with 
good  people,  or  with  people  you  love  dearly,  dearly  ? " 

Hester  answered  deliberately,  after  pausing  to  consider 
the  question  : 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  love  any  but  good  people," 
she  said. 

"But  )^ou  love  me,"  pursued  Rose,  "  and  I'm  not  good. 
Would  you  rather  have  me  as  I  am,  or  a  very  good  mamma, 
as  good  as  Miss  Waldron  ? " 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  good,"  persisted  Hester  ;  "  and  I'd 
rather  live  with  you  ten  times  better  than  Miss  Waldron, 
however  good  she  is.  But  if  you're  not  quite,  quite  good 
yet,  you've  only  to  ask  God." 

"  I  have  asked  Him,"  sobbed  Rose,  "  and  I'm  more 
wicked  than  ever.  Oh,  Hetty  !  if  you  had  promised  to  live 
with  somebody  you  didn't  love,  and  there  came  afterwards 
some  one  ycu  did  love  with  all  your  heart,  and  wanted 
you  to  live  with  them,  what  would  you  do,  little  Hetty  ? " 

Rose's  cheek  was  crimson  in  the  darkness,  and  her 
eye  wasburnirg,  while  Hester  was  silent  again  for  a  few 
minutes,  comii  g  to  a  careful  judgment  upon  the  case  put 
before  her. 


DEEPENING   SHADOWS.  75 

"  I  should  be  very,  very  sorry,"  she  answered  at  last  ; 
"but  if  I'd  promised,  I  would  keep  my  promise." 

John  Morley's  second  wife  said  no  more  to  her  little 
step-daughter  ;  but  she  gave  her  a  kiss  as  tender  as  her  own 
mother  could  have  given.  Only  had  there  been  a  light  in 
the  room,  Hester  would  have  seen  a  face  wan  as  death, 
and  blue  eyes  filled  with  terror,  bending  over  her  ;  and 
she  would  not  have  fallen  asleep  so  peacefully  as  she  did, 
with  pleasant  dreams  of  her  new  mother  1 


CHAPTER  XII. 


A  GREAT  GULF. 


A  FEW  days  after  this  singular  conduct  on  the  part  of 
Rose  Morley,  she  received  a  letter,  informing  her 
that  a  distant  relative,  residing  a  long  way  from  Little 
Aston,  was  upon  the  point  of  death,  and  wished  to  see  her 
once  more.  John  Morley  opposed  no  obstacle  to  the  ful- 
filment of  this  desire,  and  gave  his  wife  every  assistance  in 
his  power.  Her  arrangements  for  her  absence  were  very 
peculiar.  She  gathered  together  every  small  possession  of 
her  own,  every  little  trace  of  her  dwelling  there,  scattered 
up  and  down  the  habitation,  and  locked  them  up  in  the 
drawing-room,  which,  as  we  know,  had  been  renovated  and 
furnished  expressly  for  her  own  use.  In  this  way  there  was 
no  vestige  left  of  her  late  presence  in  the  home,  except  an 
ominous  and  most  mournful  void.  When  John  Morley  en- 
tered his  chamber  for  the  first  time  after  her  departure, 
he  started,  with  a  vague  and  sudden  fright,  at  its  emptiness  ; 
and  his  eyes  sought  in  vain  for  some  token  of  his  young 
wife.  There  was  the  same  sense  of  dreary  chilliness  as 
when  all  the  mementoes  of  Hester's  mother  had  been 
cleared  away  from  the  place  which  was  to  know  her  no 
more.  Throughout  the  whole  house  it  was  the  same  ; 
there  was  no  hint  left  that  Rose  had  ever  been  one  of  its 
inmates  ;  except  that  an  ever-growing  gloom  of  absence  and 
abandonment  seemed  to  hang  over  every  apartment.  In 
his  undefined  uneasiness  he  thought  of  comforting  himself 
with  a  glance  at  the  gay,  bright  room,  which  was  all  hers  ; 


A    GREAT    GULF.  'J'J 

but  the  door  did  not  yield  to  his  touch.  It  was  locked 
and  the  key  taken  away.  The  servant,  who  had  some 
secret  suspicions  of  her  own.  stole  to  the  door,  after  her 
master  had  left  it,  and  put  her  eye  to  the  key  hole.  There 
was  no  ray  of  light  in  the  room,  though  it  was  full  day  \  it 
followed  therefore,  as  a  natural  inference,  that  Mrs.  John 
Morley  had  closed  the  shutters,  and  drawn  the  thick  cur- 
tain, before  she  carried  away  the  key,  to  insure  no  intru- 
sion into  her  room  during  her  absence. 

She  had  set  out  early  in  the  morning ;  and  the  day, 
long  and  dull,  dragged  heavily  past,  both  for  John  Morley 
and  Hester.  From  time  to  time  her  husband  traced  her 
journey,  saying  :  "  Now  she  is  at  such  a  place  ;  "  "  At  this 
hour  she  is  waiting  at  such  a  station."  As  evening  drew 
on  he  sat  down  to  write  his  first  letter  to  her  ;  a  tender  yet 
stately  letter,  with  none  of  the  unmeaning  expressions 
which  a  man  of  another  stamp  might  have  used.  It  was 
an  epistle  fit  for  publication,  choice  and  elegant  in  its 
phrases  ;  but  it  was  no  other  than  the  transcript  of  his  own 
orderly  and  elevated  mind.  Being  also  a  religious  man, 
writing  to  his  wife,  who  would  read  the  letter  at  the  death- 
bed of  a  fellow-mortal,  he  added  some  thoughts,  solemn, 
earnest,  and  devout,  which  surely  could  not  fail  to  touch 
the  heart  of  hearts,  even  of  a  giddy  and  careless  girl.  And 
his  Rose  was  not  that,  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  quick  and 
rare  moisture  of  the  eyes,  as  he  recalled  her  kneeling  at 
his  side  only  a  few  days  ago,  with  her  humble  confession 
of  unworthiness  ;  and  from  the  very  depths  of  his  soul  there 
went  up  a  fresh  cry  to  God,  one  of  thousands,  that  He 
would  turn  the  heart  of  his  wife  towards  himself. 

He  directed  the  cover  of  his  letter  with  a  sort  of  pride 
in  the  characters  which  ran  from  his  pen,  "  Mrs.  John 
Morley."  She  bore  his  name,  and  belonged  to  him.  The 
old  glow  came  back  as  when  in  former  days  he  had  written 


78  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

the  same  name,  though  to  another  person.  His  wife  ! 
Wherever  she  went,  or  whoever  admired  her,  she  was  still 
Mrs.  John  Morley.  Good  man  as  he  was,  he  felt  as  much 
pride  in  her  attractions  as  a  more  worldly  husband  would 
have  done.  It  was  not  at  all  less  sweet  to  him  to  think  of 
her  gaining  homage  and  favor  by  her  beauty  and  winsome 
ways.  While  he  was  writing  to  her  the  house  did  not  seem 
quite  so  empty ;  there  was  as  it  were  an  affirmation  that 
she  had  been  there,  and  would  be  there  again  in  a  few 
days.  There  was  a  fine  pleasure  in  having  to  indite  one 
of  his  letters  to  her ;  and  above  all  in  addressing  it  to  Mrs. 
John  Morley.  The  man  had  a  whole  world  of  unconscious 
egotism  in  him. 

He  was  called  away  abruptly  from  this  agreeable  duty 
by  the  intrusion  of  some  country-folk,  who  had  come  to 
ask  his  counsel  concerning  some  question  which  perplexed 
them.  It  was  no  unusual  occurrence  with  him.  Next  to 
the  rector,  who  also  was  a  bookish  man,  and  often  con- 
descended to  enter  his  shop,  though  there  was  a  church 
bookseller  living  in  the  Square,  John  Morley  was  reckoned 
the  wisest  man  to  be  met  with  for  ten  miles  round  the 
town,  whether  in  questions  of  law,  physic,  or  religion.  He 
was,  moreover,  more  courteous  than  a  doctor,  less  crafty 
than  a  lawyer,  and  more  liberal  than  a  priest.  Whatever 
might  be  the  vexed  topic  of  the  day  it  was  necessary  to 
discuss  it  with  the  well-read  bookseller,  and  to  see  what 
new  light  he  could  throw  upon  it.  It  was  a  homage  palat- 
able to  John  Morley,  even  when  paid  to  him  by  gaping 
rustics.  But  to-day,  even  while  he  listened,  and  advised, 
and  adjudged,  there  was  a  calm  sweet  under-current  of 
thought,  following  his  young  wife  in  the  progress  of  her 
day's  journey. 

W'l  en  the  hour  came  for  closing  the  shop,  it  brought 
also  the  time  appointed  for  attending  a  week-night  service 


A    (.JREAT    GULF.  79 

at  liis  chapel.  He  posted  his  letter  on  the  way,  with  a 
silent  blessing  in  his  heart  upon  her  who  should  open  it. 
An  unusual  fervor  was  kindled  in  his  spirit.  He  saw, 
close  at  hand,  the  answer  to  his  many  prayers.  Rose 
would  come  back  to  him,  from  the  solemn  death-bed  she 
was  gone  to  witness,  changed  just  as  he  would  wish  her 
to  be  changed,  not  in  sweetness  of  temper,  nor  even  in 
buoyancy  of  spirits,  but  weaned  from  the  world,  and 
purged  from  earthly  tastes  and  longings.  He  almost 
regarded  this  death  as  being  expressly  ordained  for  the 
conversion  of  his  wife.  Wrapped  up  in  the  vivid  realiza- 
tion of  the  scene  now  being  enacted  before  her  eyes,  the 
words  of  the  old  preacher  fell  unheeded  upon  his  ears,  and 
when  the  hour's  service  was  ended  he  awoke  from  his 
reverie  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

Mr.  Waldron  joined  him  on  his  way  home,  and  having 
some  subject  of  church  discipline  to  discuss,  in  which  they 
were  both  interested,  he  entered  the  house  with  him.  A 
tacit  and  cool  intimacy,  rather  closer  than  a  mere  acquain- 
tanceship, had  sprung  up  between  them  of  late,  which  both 
would  probably  have  been  slow  to  admit.  John  Morley 
on  the  one  hand,  a  scholarly,  studious  man,  whose  whole 
life  had  been  given  to  dipping  into  varied  studies  ;  and 
David  Waldron,  on  the  other,  a  hard-headed,  parliamen- 
tary debater,  caring  little  for  general  literature,  but  living 
his  public  life  for  the  sole  purpose  of  protecting  and  advan- 
cing the  interests  of  his  denomination.  Sometimes  the 
latter  picked  up  thoughts  and  arguments  from  John  Mor- 
ley, which  told  well  in  his  own  brief  but  weighty  utterances 
in  the  House.  So  Mr.  Waldron  sat  down  familiarly  upon 
the  bookseller's  hearth,  and  foot  to  foot  and  elbow  to  elbow 
discussed  with  him  the  questions  which  interested  him 
most. 

The  two  men   were  so  utterly   absorbed  in  their  con- 


80  IIESTKR    MOKLEV'S    I'KoMISE. 

versation  that  neither  of  them  heard  a  gentle  rap,  which 
was  repeated  two  or  three  times,  before  the  door  was 
pushed  open,  and  Hester  appeared  on  the  threshold.  The 
little  girl  had  been  undressed,  but  she  had  put  on  her 
frock  over  her  nightgown,  and  slipped  her  bare  feet  into 
her  shoes.  She  stood  still  in  the  doorway  of  her  father's 
room,  holding  a  letter  in  her  hand.  It  was  a  more  extra- 
ordinary apparition  in  the  eyes  of  John  Morley  than  of  Mr. 
Waldron. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Hester  ?  "  asked  her  father  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Come  in,  Hetty,"  said  Mr.  Waldron  ;  ''  come  here, 
and  speak  to  me.  Why  I've  had  a  little  girl  of  my  own,  so 
you  need  not  be  frightened  at  me." 

Hester  advanced  into  the  room,  and  shook  hands  with 
the  great  man  ;  and  then  she  went  on  to  her  father's  side 
with  the  letter  she  was  carrying. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  was  just  getting  into  bed  when 
I  found  this  letter  oi^  the  pillow,  and  a  slip  of  paper  with  it 
to  tell  me  to  give  it  to  nobody  but  you.  So  I  thought  I'd 
better  b/ing  it  downstairs  to  you  at  once." 

It  was  directed  to  him  in  his  wife's  handwriting,  but  for 
an  instant  his  mind  was  full  of  the  argument  with  which 
he  had  been  about  to  reply  to  Mr.  Waldron.  The  child 
lingered  at  his  side,  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  letter, 
waiting  for  him  to  open  it ;  but  not  until  he  had  finished 
his  reasoning,  and  brought  it  to  a  triumphant  climax,  did 
he  rise  from  his  chair  and  take  the  letter  to  the  lamp  to 
read  it. 

"  Hester,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  by  way  of  improving  the 
occasion,  and  speaking  a  word  in  season,  "  do  you  ever 
forget  to  say  your  prayers  before  you  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Hester,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  "  never. 
Do  you,  Mr.  Waldron  ?  " 


I 


A    GREAT    GULF.  8l 

It  is  possible  that  he  did.  At  any  rate  he  did  not 
reply  with  the  same  promptitude  that  Hester  had  done, 
and  he  answered  only  by  another  question. 

"  What  have  you  prayed  for  to-night  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  asked  God  to-night,"  answered  Hester,  "  to  be 
good  to  all  very  wicked  people,  and  change  their  hearts, 
— robbers,  you  know,  and  everybody  who  is  very  wicked. 
I  used  to  wish  that  God  would  make  Satan  good.  But 
I  know  better  now." 

The  color  mantled  the  child's  earnest  face,  as  she 
gazed  pensively,  and  somewhat  mournfully,  into  the  fire. 
She  had  pushed  back  her  hair  behind  her  small  white  ears, 
and  stood  motionless,  with  her  arms  drooping,  and  her 
head  bent  in  an  attitude  of  dejection  and  melancholy, 
which  touched  even  Mr.  Waldron's  blunt  nature.  He  was 
searching  for  something  to  say  which  should  chase  the 
gloom  from  her  childish  face  ;  when  all  at  once,  without 
sound  or  sign  beforehand,  John  Morley  fell  heavily  to  the 
gi-Qund. 

It  was  as  if  some  mighty  invisible  hand  had  struck  him 
down  with  a  blow.  He  had  fallen  backwards,  and  lay  ap- 
parently lifeless  upon  the  floor,  grasping  tightly  in  his 
fingers  the  letter  which  he  had  been  reading.  His  face, 
always  pale,  had  lost  all  that  looked  like  life,  and  from 
under  his  half-closed  eyelids  the  glazed  eyes  showed  them- 
selves without  lustre  or  consciousness.  In  an  instant 
Hester  was  on  her  knees  beside  him, — neither  helpless 
nor  frightened,  as  other  children  might  have  been,  but 
with  the  sad  self-posession  of  a  woman.  She  raised  her 
father's  head,  and  placed  under  it  her  little  arm,  looking 
up  pitifully  into  Mr.  Waldron's  face. 

"  The  servant  !  "  cried  Mr.  Waldron,  running  to  the 
door ;  "  we  must  send  for  the  doctor,  Hester," 

"  There  is  nobody  Tnlhe  house  but  me,"  she  answered, 
4*  ' 


S2  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"unless  Lawson  is  upstairs  in  the  top* room.  Martha  is 
gone  out  this  evening." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  running  back  again, 
and  stooping  over  the  lifeless  man  ;  "  I  cannot  leave  you 
alone.     Is  it  a  fit  of  any  kind,  Hester  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  "  but  please  put  your  arm  here, 
while  I  look  if  Lawson  is  upstairs."  He  did  as  she  bade 
him,  and  she  darted  swiftly  out  of  the  room.  Mr.  Waldron's 
eyes  strayed  from  the  pallid  face  resting  upon  his  arm  to 
the  half-unfolded  letter  still  griped  firmly  in  John  Morley's 
stiffened  hand.  He  had  neither  wish  nor  intention  to  read 
it  ;  but  three  or  four  words  caught  his  eye  unawares,  which 
sent  the  blood  out  of  his  shrewd,  hard  face,  and  set  his 
calm,  honest  heart  beating  heavily,  like  the  blows  of  a 
sledge  hammer.  He  drew  towards  him  a  cushion  and 
hassock,  and  rested  John  Morley's  insensible  head  against 
them  ;  while  with  some  difficulty  he  loosened  the  closed 
fingers  and  released  the  letter.  In  his  turn  he  carried  it 
to  the  lamp,  and  held  it  with  a  shaking  hand  to  the  light. 
It  began  abruptly  : 

*'  I  am  the  most  wicked  and  shameful  woman  you  ever 
knew.  Oh,  why  was  I  born  so  wicked  ?  or  why  didn't  I 
die  when  I  was  only  a  little  child  like  Hetty  ? 

"  How  good  you  were  to  me  the  other  day  !  You  suf- 
fered me  to  kneel  at  your  feet,  and  kiss  your  hand, — only 
you  did  not  know  how  wicked  I  was  ;  and  all  the  day  long, 
while  I  sat  looking  at  you,  you  never  lifted  up  your  head 
without  a  kind  word  and  a  smile  for  me  ;  your  head  which 
is  going  gray,  and  which  ought  to  be  held  in  honor  by 
everybody  about  you.  Oh,  why  did  you  not  choose  a  wife 
who  could  not  have  been  so  wicked  as  to  bring  dishonor 
upon  you  ?  You  are  so  good  and  wise, — only  not  wise  in 
loving  a  shameful  thing  like  me.  It  is  all  like  a  dream, — 
a  very  horrible  and  dreadful  dream, — from  which  I  can 
never  awake,  and  f^qd  that  it  is  only  a  wicked  dream.  If 
I  qould  only  be  wh^t  I  W4§  when  you  married  me  !     If  I 


A    CRKAT    C.LM.F.  83 

could  only  be  what  I  was  three  months  ago  !  If  I  could 
only  have  seen  beforehand  how  I  was  being  led  on, — how 
we  were  both  being  led  on  by  Satan, — oh,  I  should  hav^ 
turned  back  quickly,  and  found  a  shelter  by  your  side. 
But  it  is  too  late  now, — forever  ! 

'•  I  have  gathered  up  everything  which  could  remind  you 
of  rae,  and  if  I  could  I  would  have  destroyed  that  room, 
which  was  mine,  and  which  must  remain  under  your  roof. 
I  did  ask  God  if  He  could  not  destroy  it,  as  He  destroy- 
ed Sodom  and  Gomorrha.  But  even  God  cannot  separate 
good  from  evil, — even  He  cannot  punish  me  and  spare 
you. 

"  I  do  not  go  away  to  be  happy.  I  go  away  because  to 
stay  longer  in  your  home  is  to  be  guilty  of  a  greater  wrong 
against  you.  Robert  takes  me  away  with  no  thought  of 
being  happier,  but  because  he  can  do  nothing  else.  Oh, 
I  pity  you ;  I  am  angry  for  you  ;  I  could  smite  myself  to 
death,  if  that  would  do  you  good.  But  after  death  is  the 
judgment,  and  I  am  afraid  of  the  judgment. 

"  Oh  !  why  did  you  marry  me  .''  Hester  told  me  once 
how  his  father,  Robert's  father,  came  to  you,  and  exhorted 
you  not  to  marry  a  godless  woman.  Yet  you  did.  There 
was  nothiiig  in  common  between  us.  You  took  me  out  of 
the  old,  merry,  careless  life,  and  brought  me  into  a  new 
one,  one  where  I  could  scarcely  breath.  It  was  all  gloom, 
and  darkness,  and  silence  to  me,  till  Robert  came.  And 
then  there  was  a  light  which  dazzled  me,  and  I  saw  noth- 
ing. And  now  there  is  complete  darkness,  that  utter  dark- 
ness into  which  the  outcasts  are  driven.     Oh,  God  !  " 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Waldron,  with  a  groan. 
There  was  no  other  word  added  to  Rose  Morley's  letter,  and 
no  other  cry  was  uttered  by  the  lips  of  the  man  who  read 
it.  He  laid  it  down,  and  tried  to  think;  but  his  usually 
clear  brain  vvas  in  amaze,  and  his  confused  thoughts  re- 
solved themselves  again  into  the  same  simple,  deep, 
unfathomable  cry,  which  left  everything  to  be  divined  by 
the  heavenly  Helper  ;  and  once  more  his  quivering  lips 
breathed,  "  Oh,  my  God  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  .'  "  asked  .»  vjice  beside  him,  and 


S4  HESTER    MOREEY'S    TROMISE. 

turning  his  gaze  away  from  the  letter  in  his  hand,  he  sav» 
Hester  at  his  elbow,  straining  her  eyes  to  read  her  step- 
mother's writing.  Lawson  was  looking  on  with  a  wild, 
half-crazy  expression,  and  he  too  came  forward  as  Mr. 
Waldron  remained  silent  and  stupefied. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  my  master  ?  "  he  asked.  • 

Before  Mr.  Waldron  could  frame  any  reply,  John  Mor- 
ley  gave  the  first  token  of  returning  life  by  heaving  a  pro- 
found sigh.  Hester  was  upon  her  knees  beside  him  again 
in  a  moment,  pressing  her  small  cold  hands  upon  his 
burning  forehead,  and  speaking  to  him  in  quiet  tones. 
He  lay  still  for  a  few  minutes,  but  after  awhile  he  pushed 
her  on  one  side,  and  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  confronted 
Mr.  Waldron ;  and  the  two  men  looked  speechlessly  into 
one  another's  eyes,  having  no  need  of  words.  The  crushed 
and  torn  letter  lay  upon  the  table  in  the  full  light  of  the 
lamp.  Neither  of  them  looked  at  it,  though  both  saw  it, 
and  both,  in  their  fevered  brains,  were  repeating  the  words 
written  in  it.  Mr.  Waldron  at  last  tried  to  speak,  but 
twice  his  voice  failed  him  ;  until  by  a  great  effort  he  cried, 
while  still  gazing  into  John  Morley's  face,  "  He  is  my  only 
son." 

"Leave  me,"  exclaimed  John  Morley,  awakening  to 
the  full  shame  and  grief  that  had  befallen  him  ;  "  let  me  be 
alone  !  W^hy  do  you  all  stand  staring  upon  me  ?  Leave 
me  to  myself,  I  say." 

'•  No,  brother,  no,"  answered  Mr.  Waldron,  his  voice 
broken  by  sobs  ;  "  God  is  our  only  refuge  till  this  calam- 
ity be  overpast.     Let  us  pray  together,  brother." 

He  knelt  down,  and  Hester  knelt  also.  But  Lawson 
remained  standing  near  the  table,  where  the  letter  lay 
open  before  him.  John  Morley  himself  had  fallen  back 
uito  his  chair,  in  a  maze  of  anguish  and  dishonor.  He 
lould  not  pray  yet.     In  the  whole   universe  there  was  no 


I 


A   GREAT   GULF.  8$ 

one  but  himself  and  the  wife  who  had  proved  unfaithful  to 
him.  If  there  was  a  faint  thought  of  God  Hngering  some 
wljere  in  the  dark  cells  of  memory,  it  was  only  of  a  Being, 
who  either  saw  all  these  crimes  without  having  the  power 
to  prevent  them,  or  who  was  so  far  removed  in  a  serene 
and  selfish  blessedness  that  He  could  pay  no  attention  to 
the  sorrows  of  His  creatures.  He  felt  as  yet  no  need  of 
prayer.  But  while  he  was  thus  lost  in  a  stupor  of  despair, 
a  prayer,  mingled  with  sobs  and  tears,  was  being  offered 
up  for  him  by  Mr.  Waldron,  who  now  for  the  first  time* 
realized  how  very  near  a  brother  John  Morley  was  to  him. 
When  he  had  brought  his  broken  supplications  to  a  close, 
he  rose  from  his  knees,  and  clasped  John  Morley's  hand 
affectionately  and  humbly.  But  "  he  spoke  no  word  unto 
him,  for  he  saw  that  his  grief  was  very  great." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  John  Morley  was  left  alone  ; 
and  Hester  was  crying  herself  bitterly  to  sleep  upon  the 
pillow  were  Rose  Morley's  letter  had  lain  hidden  all  day. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  SLOUGH   OF   DESPOND. 

IN  the  dead  of  the  night  the  child's  slumbers  were  sud- 
denly broken  by  a  light  falling  upon  her  closed  eyehds. 
She  awoke,  and  opened  her  eyes  upon  her  father's  face 
bending  over  her.  He  had  placed  his  candle  upon 
the  chair  at  the  side  o^  the  bed,  and  the  light  shone  full 
upon  him.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  strained,  and  his 
face  wore  a  scared  and  haggard  expression,  as  if  he  was 
gazing  spell-bound  upon  some  horrible  vision.  He  was 
grasping  in  his  hand,  which  was  already  cut  and  blood- 
stained, a  sharpened  razor,  the  hard,  bright  steel  of  which 
was  gleaming  brightly.  Never  had  Hester  seen  him  thus 
visit  her  in  her  sleep  before.  She  sat  upon  her  pillow,  and 
looked  earnestly  into  her  father's  face,  until  he  seemed 
troubled,  and  turned  away  uneasily  from  her  childish  scru- 
tiny. 

But  he  spoke  after  a  little  while,  in  hoarse  and  trem- 
ulous tones  : 

"Child,"  he  said,  "it  is  sometimes  better  to  die  than 
to  live." 

"  Are  you  very  angry,  father } "  asked  Hester. 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  stood  looking  down  upon 
her  with  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter,"  she  said,  lifting  up 
her  hand  and  laying  it  on  his  neck,  while  he  bent  lower  to 
receive  the  rare  caress ;  "  I  don't  understand  what  has 
happened  ;  I  am  only  a  litt|e  girl,  but  I  am  your  own 
daughter ;  tell  me  what  is  the  matter,  father." 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND.  87 

"  She  is  gone  away,"  he  answered,  trembling  and  shiv- 
ering ;  '•  Rose  has  left  me  ! " 

"I  know  she  is  gone  away,"  said  Hester,  drawing 
down  his  face  to  her  lips,  and  kissing  it;  "but  she  only 
went  away  this  morning,  and  she  is  coming  home  again 
soon." 

"No,  never!"  he  cried,  falling  down  on  his  knees,  as 
if  his  failing  limbs  could  no  longer  support  him.  "I  shall 
never  see  her  again  ;  she  will  never  sleep  again  under  my 
roof." 

As  he  spoke  of  it,  the  extremest  tension  of  his  anguish 
gave  way  a  little.  He  continued  kneeling  at  Hester's 
side,  repeating  dully  in  a  half  whisper  that  Rose  would 
never  sleep  again  under  his  roof  The  moment  of  tempt- 
ation, in  which  it  had  seemed  better  to  die  than  to  live, 
was  past ;  and  with  a  man  like  John  Morley  could  not  re- 
turn. He  turned  himself,  with  blind  and  dumb  disgust, 
towards  the  life  that  stretched  before  him,  which  he  must 
traverse,  bowed  beneath  his  burden  of  shame.  He 
dreaded  to  open  his  eyes  or  utter  a  word,  lest  a  full  tor 
rent  of  misery  should  break  over  him  to  overwhelm  him  at 
once.  The  image  of  Rose  was  before  him,  with  all  the 
fatal  charms  that  had  beguiled  him  into  his  second  mar- 
riage; but  behind  it  there  rose  a  sweet,  pensive,  saintlike 
face,  which  had  been  fading  from  his  memory,  but  now 
came  back  as  if  to  reproach  him.  He  felt  that  he  ought 
to  hate  his  second  wife  the  more  bitterly,  because  she  had 
usurped  and  betrayed  the  place  of  Hester's  mother. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  "  we  must  forget  that  this  woman 
has  ever  lived  with  us." 

As  if  he  could  forget !  He  laughed  harshly  after 
speaking  the  idle  words.  Would  not  the  remembrance  of 
her,  and  the  shame  which  was  the  only  dower  she  had 
brought  him,  be  the  food  of  his  thoughts  night  and  day  ? 


88  HESTER    MUKLEY's    PROMISE. 

Would  he  not  eat,  and  sleep,  and  read,  with  the  remem- 
oranoe  of  her  infamy  always  before  hiin  ?  It  was  a  hor- 
rible unheard-of  thing  to  happen  to  him.  He  had  known 
that  such  sins  were,  but  only  as  a  thinker  and  philosopher. 
He  had  contemplated  them  afar  off,  as  one  of  the  many 
social  problems  which  were  altogether  apart  from  himself, 
and  which  could  never  enter  the  sphere  where  he  dwelt. 
It  was  a  loathsome  leprosy,  to  be  looked  at  from  a  dis- 
tance ;  but  it  had  never  entered  his  heart  to  conceive  of 
the  tainted  hand  touching  his,  or  the  foul  lips  breathing 
the  atmosphere  of  his  own  home.  He  felt  himself  caught 
in  the  infected  meshes.  He  abhorred  himself,  and  his 
dwelling;  that  dwelling  from  which  Hester's  mother  had 
passed  peacefully  away  into  her  hallowed  rest.  This 
woman  had  dragged  him  down  with  her  own  fall ;  for  he 
had  made  her  "  bone  of  his  bone,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh." 

He  put  away,  but  gently  and  reverently,  Hester's  arm, 
which  still  lay  upon  his  neck,  and  he  turned  aside  his  face 
from  her  kisses.  He  identified  himself  so  fully  with  the 
woman  who  had  dishonored  him,  that  it  seemed  to  him 
sacrilege  to  suffer  the  innocent  young  lips  of  his  little 
daughter  to  be  pressed  to  his.  The  paroxysm  of  passion 
in  which  he  had  sought  her  room,  resolved  that  neither  of 
them  should  outlive  the  first  night  of  his  shame,  was  past 
forever ;  but  none  the  less  was  his  heart  crushed  down 
and  hardened.  A  barrier  seemed  raised  between  him  and 
his  child.  He  had  done  her  an  irreparable  wrong  in  put- 
ting into  her  mother's  place  a  stranger,  who  had  brought 
an  ineffaceable  stigma  upon  them  both.  For,  in  the  time 
to  come,  he  could  foresee  it  clearly,  the  world  would  not 
be  too  carefa  to  remember,  that  it  was  not  her  own  mother 
who  had  fallen  into  the  slough.  The  sting  of  that  thought 
pierced  him  yet  more  poignantly  than  any  other.  Hes- 
ter's mother  would  be  dragged  down  from  her  fair  and 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DKSinjXD.  89 

holy  place  in  the  heavens,  and  be  confounded  with  this 
lost,  false  creature,  who  had  sunk  so  low  into  the  abyss, 
that  even  he,  forced  to  gaze  down  into  it,  could  not  fathom 
all  the  degradation  and  vileness  of  it.  Hester  was  look- 
ing at  him  with  the  clear,  pure,  sweet  eyes  of  her  mother, 
and  he  could  not  endure  to  meet  them.  He  took  up  the 
light  abruptly,  and  left  her  to  weep  and  sob  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

For  a  whole  week  the  house  of  John  Morley  was  closed 
as  if  it  had  been  the  house  of  the  dead.  People  who  went 
by,  and  saw  the  shutters  all  up,  and  the  light  excluded, 
made  haste  to  repeat  to  one  another  every  detail  which  the 
town's  gossip  could  supply.  The  servant  of  the  desolated 
household  had  a  few  choice  particulars  to  add  to  the  com- 
mon stock.  John  Morley  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  office, 
and  refused  to  see  any  one,  even  Hester  herself.  But,  at 
night,  when  he  supposed  ever}'-body  else  to  be  wrapped  in 
sleep,  he  roamed  to  and  fro  restlessly  in  the  house.  It 
may  be  he  sought  then  to  discover  if  any  trace  was  remain- 
ing of  the  residence  of  Rose  in  his  home  ;  but,  if  so,  he 
found  none.  The  only  memorial  of  her  presence  there 
was  the  closed  door  of  the  room,  the  key  of  which  she  had 
carried  off  with  her,  and  which  he  could  only  enter  by  a 
'orce  and  violence  from  which  he  recoiled. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SINNERS   AND   JUDGES 

WHEN  John  Morley  returned,  as  time  compels 
all  to  do,  to  his  ordinary  life,  there  were  some 
marked  changes  in  him.  Not  only  his  face  bore  the  scars 
of  a  mortal  conflict,  but  his  daily  conduct  still  more  plainly 
testified  to  the  hard  gripe  of  shame  upon  him.  He  with- 
drew peremptorily  from  every  office  in  the  church  which 
brought  him  into  prominence  ;  and  would  occupy  no  posi- 
tion in  it,  except  that  of  the  humblest  member.  He 
declined  to  give  his  counsel,  as  in  former  times,  to  the 
numerous  clients  who  had  found  it  less  costly  and  less 
formidable  to  turn  into  John  Morley's  shop  than  to  seek 
the  doctor  or  the  lawyer.  He  ceased  to  care  for  his  busi- 
ness, was  apathetic  and  forgetful.  The  gravity  which  had 
characterized  him  was  become  an  unbroken  and  jo3dess 
gloom,  which  took  sorrow  to  its  heart,  and  prostrated  itself 
before  despair. 

On  his  part,  Mr.  Waldron  also  had  suffered  a  severe 
shock  ;  but  the  sin  of  a  son  is  not  equal  to  the  dishonor  of 
a  wife.  Religious  as  he  undoubtedly  was,  a  righteous  man 
who  strove  to  judge  righteously,  the  world's  estimate  of  his 
son's  conduct  could  not  fail  to  influence  him,  and  to  ap- 
pease in  some  measure  his  anger  and  sorrow.  Robert 
might  at  any  time  repent,  shake  off  his  sin,  and  come  back 
to  social  life,  to  be  welcomed  there  without  reference  to 
his  youthful  indiscretion.     He  might  enter  upon  a  public 


SINNERS   AND   JUDGES.  9I 

career  as  useful  and  more  brilliant  than  his  father's,  and 
not  a  voice  would  be  lifted  against  him.  Mr.  Waldron 
mourned  over  his  son,  but  there  was  no  bottomless  depth 
of  anguish  in  his  soul.  He  could  gaze  down  into  the  gulf 
ir,to  which  he  had  flillen,  and  see  there  a  path,  toilsome  it 
might  be,  by  which  he  could  climb  up  again  into  reputation 
and  honor. 

Miss  Waldron  looked  upon  her  brother's  sin  as  a  cross 
expressly  constructed  for  herself,  and  weighing  more  heav- 
ily upon  her  than  upon  any  one  else.  She  grew  a  hun- 
dredfold more  terrific  in  her  Bible  classes  and  mothers' 
meetings  ;  and  expatiated  with  extreme  unction  upon  the 
judgments  of  Heaven.  The  religious  poor  generally  enjoy 
being  alarmed.  They  have  been  driven  out  of  some  of  the 
strongholds  of  superstition,  which  are  not  without  their 
charms  ;  and  they  like  to  taste  again  the  thrill  and  creep 
of  awe,  with  which  they  were  wont  to  glance  back  over 
their  shoulders  for  the  hobgoblins  of  former  times.  Miss 
Waldron  invited  them  to  peep  with  terror  into  the  mysteries 
of  Divine  judgment ;  and  she  became  popular  with  them. 
A  great  work  began  in  her  classes  ;  and  she  said  that 
her  brother's  fall  had  been  the  conversion  of  many  souls. 

IMiss  Waldron  took  a  profound  interest  in  John  Morley 
and  Hester.  She  felt  it  almost  as  a  personal  insult  that 
the  dishonored  husband  would  not  suffer  her  to  probe  his 
deep  wound.  It  was  a  symptom  over  which  she  shook  her 
head  ominously.  But  Hester  was  easily  reached.  She 
even  carried  her  down  to  Aston  Court  one  day,  when  she 
met  her  going  out  for  a  walk,  that  she  might  have  a  long 
uninterrupted  opportunity  with  her,  and  make  such  an  im- 
pression upon  her  tender  mind  as  time  would  not  be 
able  lo  efface.  She  set  Hester  on  a  high,  straight-backed 
chair,  opposite  to  the  harsh  portrait  of  Luther,  and  address- 
ed hei  in  deep  and  awful  tones : 


92 


HESTER   MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 


"  You  have  lost  your  step-mother,"  she  began. 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  the  child  eagerly,  "  tell  me  what  has 
become  of  her,  and  what  she  has  done.  Nobody  will 
speak  about  her  to  me,  and  they  say  I  must  never,  never 
mention  her  name  again." 

"  She  has  done,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  in  a  tone  of  con- 
centrated bitterness,  "  the  greatest,  vilest,  foulest  sin  a 
woman  can  commit.  She  will  never  come  back,  and  if 
she  did,  none  of  us  ought  to  look  at  her,  or  speak  to  he- . 
In  olden  times  she  would  have  been  stoned  to  death;  yes, 
stoned  to  death  ;.  and  you  and  your  father  would  have 
been  the  first  to  cast  a  stone  at  her." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Hester,  bursting  into  tears :  "  I  know 
now  what  you  mean.  She  is  like  that  poor  woman  who 
was  very  wicked,  and  they  brought  her  to  Jesus  ;  and  He 
said,  'Let  him  that  is  without  sin  first  cast  a  stone  at  her.' 
And  not  one  of  them  could  cast  a  stone  at  her.  It  would 
be  the  same  now  if  she  was  here,  and  Jesus  Christ.  There 
would  be  nobody  that  would  dare  cast  a  stone  at  her  ;  not 
even  you,  Miss  Waldron.  And  now,  if  you  please,  I 
should  like  to  go  home." 

Hester  did  not  linger  for  permission,  but  walked 
straight  out  through  the  glass  doors,  and  along  the  ter- 
race, and  up  the  park,  her  heart  swelling  with  childish 
grief  and  indignation.  When  she  reached  her  father's 
house,  she  crossed  over  to  the  opposite  pavement,  and 
stood  for  a  minute  or  two  looking  at  it  with  tearful  eyes. 
It  had  always  been  a  dull,  gloomy,  low-spirited  looking 
house ;  but  now,  with  the  large  casement  on  the  upper 
floor  closed  with  shutters,  it  seemed  more  cheerless  than 
before.  The  faded  books  in  the  shop  windows,  which  had 
not  been  moved  since  Rose  had  fled,  and  the  panes  stained 
with  the  dust  and  the  rain,  were  very  mournful  to  look  at; 
and  they  affected  Hester  as  if  they  had  been  living  thmgs, 


SINNERS    AND    JUDGES.  93 

conscious  of  neglect.  Her  feelings  were  not  very  definite, 
but  there  was  a  sort  of  yearning  pity  towards  the  deserted 
old  place,  which  seemed  abandoned  by  the  sun  and  all 
cheering  influences.  She  wished  to  herself  that  she  could 
comfort  and  revive  the  poor,  decayed  dwelling;  yet  it  re- 
quired an  effort  to  cross  over  again,  and  enter  it  as  her 
home.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  within.  She 
peeped  into  her  father's  room,  and  saw  him  sitting  there 
in  grey  and  grim  silence,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his 
breast  and  his  head  drooping;  awaiting  in  this  attitude 
the  entrance  of  any  chance  customer,  which  disturbed  him 
but  seldom,  as  his  neighbors  yet  shrank  from  intruding 
needlessly  upon  his  grief  Hester  closed  the  door  gently, 
and  stole  up  the  creaking  old  staircase,  and  through  the 
empty  rooms  to  Lawson's  attic.  He  was  stooping  over 
his  press  in  the  window  ;  but  the  ardor  with  which  he  had 
formerly  pursued  his  work  was  dead,  and  his  withered  face 
was  wrinkled  with  anxiety.  Hester  mounted  to  her  old 
seat,  which  had  been  so  long  deserted,  for  while  Rose  had 
lived  in  the  rooms  below  she  had  rarely  ascended  to  Law- 
son's  workshop,  and  never  stayed  there  long.  She  wished 
Lawson  to  be  the  first  to  speak  ;  but  he  was  in  a  silent 
mood,  and  for  some  time  his  work  went  on,  without  a  word 
being  spoken  on  either  side. 

"  Lawson,"  asked  Hester,  after  a  long  perseverance  in 
silence,  "what  do  yott  think  about  my  mamma,  my  step- 
mother you  know  ?  " 

"  Don't  trouble  your  little  head  about  her,"  answered 
Lawson;  "you  just  think  about  your  own  mother.  I'll 
show  you  her  picture  again." 

"No,"  interrupted  Hester,  as  he  was  about  to  reach 
down  the  portfolio,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  truly  why  peo- 
ple talk  so  about  her.  They  point  at  me  in  the  streets ;  and 
I  heard   a  woman  say,  *  I  hear  that's   her  little  girl,  poor 


94  HESTER   MORLEY  S   PROMISE. 

thing  !  '  1  wish  to  know  what  it  is  all  for  ;  and  I  mean 
you  to  tell  me,  Lawson,"  she  added  imperiously  ;  "  tow 
am  1  to  know  what  I  ought  to  do,  if  I  don't  know  what  she 
has  done?  She  was  just  as  kind,  and  as  good,  and  as 
pretty  when  she  went  away  that  morning  as  she  ever  was. 
Tell  me  directly,  Lawson." 

She  had  descended  from  her  seat  on  the  step-ladder, 
and  was  standing  before  him  drawn  up  to  her  fullest 
height,  with  her  head  thrown  back  in  an  attitude  of  child- 
ish authority  at  once  amusing  and  graceful.  Lawson  sat 
down  on  a  high  three-legged  stool,  which  was  his  ordinary 
seat,  and  confronted  her,  his  sallow  skin  flushed  with  a 
dull  red,  and  his  eyes  not  meeting  hers,  but  fixed  upon 
some  point  behind  her,  as  if  he  saw,  and  was  speaking  to, 
some  person,  who  stood  at  the  back. 

"  I'd  tear  my  tongue  out,"  he  said,  "  before  I'd  tell  the 
child.  But  if  I  knew  where  that  woman  was,  I'd  follow 
her  to  the  world's  end,  and  strike  her  down  dead.  As 
long  as  she's  alive,  she's  the  master's  wife,  and  I  know  you 
cannot  come  back  till  she  is  dead.  Only  give  me  time, 
and  I'll  see  her  dead  at  my  feet." 

"  Lawson,  Lawson,"  cried  Hester  in  affright,  "  who  are 
you  speaking  to  ?     What  are  you  speaking  about  ? " 

He  lifted  himself  up  slowly,  and  set  doggedly  to  work 
again,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  all  Hester's  questions  and  en- 
treaties. Before  him  on  the  press  was  a  volume  bound 
in  purple  morocco,  the  title  of  which  he  was  lettering  in 
gold.  One  after  another,  he  took  up  mechanically  his 
stamps  of  old  English  characters,  and  pressed  them  upon 
the  gold  leaf.  He  did  it  carefully,  j^et  with  an  air  of 
abstraction,  and  his  thin  lips  moved,  as  if  he  was  mutter 
ing  to  himself.  Hester  had  stolen  away  sobbing,  and  the 
attic  was  his  solitary  abode  again.  When  at  length  he 
polished  with  his  burnishing  tool  the  title  he  had  printed 


SINNERS   AND   JUDGES.  95 

upon  his  work,  he  found  there  the  single  word,  "  Adulter- 
ess.*' An  extraordinar}'  and  ghastly  smile  played  upon  his 
features,  and  he  rubbed  his  hard  yellow  hands  together 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  But  the  costly  binding  was 
spoiled,  and  as  he  undid  his  own  work  an  expression  of 
perplexity  and  disquietude  returned  to  his  withered  face. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  SUNLESS   SPRING-TIME. 

THE  brief  season  of  Hester's  childhood  was  ended. 
By  small  degrees  household  cares  thrust  themselves 
upon  her ;  and  at  a  time  when  the  daughters  of  other 
homes  were  still  careless  and  irresponsible,  she  had  begun  to 
busy  herself  quietly  about  her  father,  watching  for  his  wants, 
and  providing  beforehand  for  them.  The  old  servant  grad- 
ually lost  her  importance,  and  finding  herself  no  longer 
regnant,  she  abdicated  indignantly,  and  Hester,  a  woman 
already  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  supplied  her  place,  without 
troubling  her.  father  with  the  matter,  while  he  seemed  un- 
conscious of  the  change. 

As  for  her  education,  that  was  self-directed,  and  almost 
self-acquired.  She  had  gone  to  no  school ;  for  if  ever  the 
thought  of  it  had  been  pressed  upon  John  Morley,  he  had 
thrust  it  away  with  impatient  agony.  For  the  only  good 
school  in  the  place  was  the  one  in  which  Rose  had  been 
governess,  and  he  would  have  felt  less  emotion  in  seeing 
his  child  dead  in  her  coffin,  than  in  knowing  day  after  day, 
that  she  was  gone  to  that  school.  He  allowed  her  to 
choose  and  engage  her  own  masters;  and  they  came  and 
went,  and  she  received  them  and  their  instructions  with  a 
quamt,  shrewd,  old-fashioned  womanliness,  which  often 
threw  them  into  doubt  as  to  whether  she  was  indeed  the 
young  girl  she  seemed.  It  was  an  isolated  life  ;  and  Hes- 
ter grew  so  used  to  the  shadowy,  colorless  tone  of  the  old 


A    '.UNI. KSS    STRINC-TIME.  97 

house,  that  she  felt  afraid  of  venturing  out  into  the  brilliant 
light  and  ceaseless  stir  of  the  outer  world. 

In  this  heavy  and  stagnant  atmosphere  Hester's  young 
nnture  was  compelled  to  unfold  all  the  graces  of  girlhood 
which  could  struggle  into  existence.  The  blossoms  were 
but  pale  and  few,  but  they  were  very  sweet,  had  there  been 
any  one  to  take  pleasure  in  them  :  a  quaint,  quiet,  demure, 
and  pensive  girl  ;  her  heart  feeding  upon  fancies  half 
romantic  and  half  religious.  One  thought  and  memory 
liv'ed  within  her — the  memory  of  the  fair  young  stepmother, 
and  the  thought  of  her  mysterious  crime.  There  was  a 
memorial  of  Rose's  brief  sojourn  under  their  roof,  which  was 
more  directly  beneath  Hester's  notice  than  her  father's  ; 
for  the  closed  room,  the  key  of  which  the  unhappy  wife  had 
carried  away,  was  opposite  to  her  bedroom,  in  a  part  of  the 
house  which  her  father  never  entered.  Since  the  night 
after  his  wife's  elopement,  John  Morley's  foot  had  never 
ascended  the  two  or  three  steps  leading  to  Hester's  cham- 
ber, and  the  locked  door,  behind,  which  were  hidden  all 
the  mementoes  of  Rose.  This  room  was  like  a  grave  in  the 
house.  Never  did  a  sound  come  from  it,  though  Hester, 
while  yet  a  child,  had  sometimes  sat  up  in  bed  at  nights, 
holding  her  hand  against  her  throbbing  heart,  and  listening, 
as  if  some  one  might  be  moving  about  that  mysterious  room. 
No  light  could  penetrate  into  it ;  and  the  shuttered  win- 
dows looked  blankly  out  upon  the  sky.  She  was  not  afraid 
of  the  place,  but  she  was  awed  by  it :  the  prev^ailing  gloom 
and  stillness  of  the  whole  house  seeming  to  centre  there  in 
a  perpetual  silence  and  blackness,  which  was  the  monu- 
ment of  Rose  Morley's  guilt.  So  long  as  that  heart  of 
darkness  remained,  the  sun  could  not  shine  very  brightly 
into  any  other  nook  of  the  dwelling.  It  was  the  eye  of  the 
house  ;  and  that  eye  being  darkness,  how  great  was  the 
♦darkness  ! 

5 


98  IIKSTER    MORLFA's    I'ROMISR. 

The  years  glided  by,  strengthening  the  fixed  customs 
of  the  household.  John  Morley  became  formal  and  auto- 
matic in  his  habits.  At  a  given  moment  of  the  morning 
his  clouded  and  sad  face  and  bowed  figure  emerged  from 
his  chamber,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the 
left,  and  glided,  shadowlike,  into  his  sitting-room,  where 
liis  solitary  breakfast  awaited  him.  From  that  time  until 
seven  in  the  evening  he  remained  brooding  over  his  lot, 
with  no  distraction  except  the  entrance  of  his  few  custom- 
ers. His  business  declined  slowly  but  surely,  yet  he 
scarcely  perceived  it.  In  the  almost  sublime  egotism  of 
his  grief,  he  was  conscious  only  that  time  did  not  dissi- 
pate the  clouds  about  him,  but  rather  drew  their  sombre 
curtains  more  closely  and  thickly.  At  length,  in  the  course 
of  years,  the  sole  custom  left  to  him  was  that  of  the  people 
of  his  church,  most  of  whom  were  poor  and  little  given  to 
reading.  It  seemed  also  as  if  the  fire  of  Lawson's  genius 
was  for  ever  quenched.  The  aristocracy  of  the  country 
trusted  no  more  rare  and  costly  volumes  to  John  Morley's 
binding-office.  Now  and  then  Lawson  achieved  a  triumph, 
but  success  came  only  to  him  as  a  chance.  Yet,  in  a  little 
measure,  his  cunning  returned  when  Hester  brought  her 
sewing  upstairs  into  the  sunny  attic,  and  sat  in  the  obscure 
window  by  his  press,  plying  her  needle  busily,  though  with 
few  words  passing  between  them.  Sometimes  she  set  her 
own  hands  to  the  work,-under  his  directions,  and  gained  a 
rare  skill  in  it.  But,  for  himself,  his  trembling  fingers 
could  not  regain  their  delicate  workmanship,  and  he  felt 
that  his  occupation  was  gone  from  him.  However,  the 
current  of  life  had  drifted  him  into  quiet  waters,  which,  if 
they  were  not  sunny,  seemed  very  safe ;  and  the  sweet 
young  face  of  Hester,  not  quite  round  enough  or  rosy 
mough  for  her  years,  was  a  hundred-fold  dearer  to  him 
tnan  it  could  ever  have  been  in  the  brightness  and  gayety 


A    SUNLESS    SPRING-TIME. 


90 


of  ahappier  girlhood.  The  chief  changes  in  Hester's  own 
existence  were  regulated  by  the  sessions  and  vacations  of 
parliament.  When  Mr.  Waldron  rested  from  his  parlia- 
mentary duties  in  the  seclusion  of  the  country,  Hester's 
religious  duties  became  a  little  severe,  for  Miss  Waldron 
expected  her  to  attend  punctually  all  the  meetings  for 
females,  as  well  as  occasionally  to  visit  Aston  Court  for 
more  private  and  personal  instruction.  Miss  Waldron 
never  forgot,  and  never  suffered  Hester  to  forget,  that  their 
spheres  in  life  were  totally  different.  She  gave  Hester 
gooseberries  ta  eat,  while  she  regaled  herself  with  grapes. 
It  was  something  after  the  same  fashion  that  she  fed  the 
souls  of  her  scholars.  There  were  promises  and  experi- 
ences too  luscious  for  inferior  palates  ;  grapes  of  Eshcol, 
belonging  by  right  to  the  aristocracy  of  the  church,  among 
whom  she  was  numbered  by  every  claim  which  it  is  possi- 
ble to  possess.  By  birth,  by  rank,  by  wealth,  by  early 
membership,  by  unremitting  attendance  at  public  woiohip, 
by  indefatigable  labors,  and  by  every  other  qualific  ition 
which  the  most  exacting  church  could  require,  Miss  vVal- 
dron  laid  claim  to  the  finest  of  the  grapes  ;  and  thej  were 
adjudged  to  her  without  a  single  dissentient  voice. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   POINT   OF   CONSCIENCE. 

HESTER'S  eighteenth  birthday  was  come.  It  was  no- 
ticed by  no  one  but  herself,  and  she  kept  it  by  buy- 
ing a  new  bonnet  in  the  place  of  an  old  one,  which  had 
seen  long  and  hard  service,  and  by  contemplating  her  own 
face  a  little  longer  than  usual,  as  it  smiled  and  blushed 
back  at  her  from  the  small  round  mirror  which  hung  over 
her  dressing-table.  It  was  a  spark  of  vanity  quickly  put 
out  by  the  reproaches  of  her  morbid  conscience,  and  she 
went  downstairs  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  the  day  more  in  the 
spirit  of  eighty  than  of  eighteen. 

This  same  day  Mr.  Waldron  found  himself  hovering 
about  John  Morley's  shop,  passing  and  repassing  it  in  a 
singularly  embarrassed  and  irresolute  state  of  mind. 
There  had  not  been  much  intercourse  between  them  since 
the  wrong  committed  by  his  son.  John  Morley  had 
shrunk  from  all  contact,  and  he  had  respected  his  feelings, 
though  he  could  not  sympathize  with  them.  Sympathy 
was  not  Mr.  Waldron's  forte.  He  argued  that  if  he  had 
been  able  to  support  the  thought  of  his  son's  sin,  and, 
W'hile  deeply  mourning  it,  still  not  to  suffer  it  to  interfere 
with  his  faithful  discharge  of  public  duties,  both  in  the 
church  and  world,  John  Morley  ought  also  to  have  proved 
himself  superior  to  his  sorrow  and  disgrace.  He  had 
been  a  perpetual  and  jarring  memorial  of  the  past,  with 
his  grey  face  and  white  head  ;  and  Mr.  Waldron  had  been 


A   rOIXT   OF   COXSCIEXCE.  lOI 

naturally  irritated  by  him,  whenever  he  was  residing  neal 
Little  Aston.  To-day  he  felt  it  an  awkward  thing,  though 
he  was  a  great  man  and  member  of  parliament,  to  enter 
John  Morley's  shop,  and  give  utterance  to  the  words  he 
had  carefully  meditated  beforehand.  At  last  he  marched 
boldly  forwards,  ringing  the  shop-bell  furiously  with  his 
quick  entrance  ;  and  John  Morley,  gaunt  and  melancholy, 
the  wreck  of  the  handsome  man  he  had  once  been,  met 
him  and  looked  him  in  the  face  with  sunken  eyes,  which 
glowed  with  a  dull  and  sorrowful  flame. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  alone,  brother  Morley,"  said 
Mr.  Waldron,  offering  his  hand,  which  probably  John  Mor- 
ley did  not  see,  for  he  did  not  take  it. 

"We  are  alone  here,"  he  answered. 

"  No,  no,"'  replied  Mr.  Waldron,  "  we  are  liable  to  in- 
terruption here,  and  I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

'"Father,"  said  the  voice  of  Hester  from  the  room 
within,  "come  in  here." 

John  Morley  complied  by  a  silent  gesture  to  his  guest 
to  enter,  and  he,  removing  his  hat  for  the  first  time,  passed 
in,  and  saluted  Hester  with  the  air  of  old-fashioned  gal- 
lantry he  had  been  wont  to  display  towards  her  prett}'  step- 
mother nine  years  before.  She  had  been  sitting  in  her 
great  chair,  which  stood  summer  and  winter  in  the  same 
spot  on  the  hearth ;  and  as  soon  as  her  quiet  reception  of 
the  visitor  was  over,  she  resumed  her  seat,  and  took  up 
her  work  again.  Mr.  Waldron  stood  opposite  to  John 
Morley,  neither  Hester  nor  her  father  asking  him  to  be 
seated.  The  elder  man,  with  whom  life  had  been  a  pros- 
perous thing,  looked  ten  years  younger  than  he  upon  whom 
had  fallen  perhaps  the  heaviest  buiden  that  can  crush  the 
spirit  of  a  man. 

"  Brother,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  in  a  voice  which  faltered 
more  than  it  had  done  when  he  had  addressed  his  maiden 


I02  IIKSTKK    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

speech  to  an  inattentive  audience  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, "I  am  come  here  to  ask  a  great  gift.  If  the  choice 
had  been  given  me,  there  ,s  nothing  I  would  not  have 
done  to  spare  you  and  myself  the  pain  we  must  beai  .o- 
day.  But  my  duty  lay  here  and  with  you.  Will  you  let 
me  speak  to  you  ?" 

John  Morley  bowed  his  head  as  his  only  reply. 

"  My  son,"  stammered  Mr.  Waldron,  and  John  Morley 
shivered  and  shrank  back,  as  if  recoiling  from  a  hand 
raised  to  strike  him,  "my  son  Robert,  whom  I  have  ban- 
ished from  my  house  these  nine  years,  is  longing  to  return. 
He  is  ill  and  penitent ;  penitent  almost  to  despair.  He 
implores  to  be  no  longer  an  outcast  from  his  own  home, 
and  the  place  which  will  be  his  at  my  death.  He  is  my 
only  boy,  and  I  am  getting  well  into  years,  and  my  heart 
yearns  towards  him.  When  Absalom  fled  to  Geshur  after 
the  murder  of  his  brother  Amnon,  he  was  an  exile  but 
three  years,  when  his  father's  soul  longed  to  go  forth  to 
him.     Do  you  hear  me,  brother  Morley?" 

"  I  hear  you,"  he  murmured  in  a  hollow  and  almost 
inaudible  tone. 

"  Oh,  let  me  bid  him  come  home !  "  said  Mr.  Waldron 
urgei-tly ;  "  his  sin  was  great,  but  it  was  the  sin  of  a  young 
man.  It  has  been  punished  enough.  For  your  sake,  and 
for  righteousness'  sake,  I  have  never  received  him  under 
my  roof  since  then — my  only  son  !  It  would  be  unnatural, 
unmerciful,  unjust,  if  I  refused  to  let  him  come  home,  now 
that  he  is  broken  in  health,  and  contrite  in  spirit.  My 
house  is  empty  and  desolate  without  him,  and  he  is  my 
heir.     He  will  take  my  place  when  I  am  gone." 

There  was  no  answer  when  Mr.  W'aldron  ceased  to 
speak.  John  Morley  stood  with  bowed  shoulders  and 
bent  head,  while  his  frame  trembled  like  a  child's,  who 
knew  not  how  to  escape  from  the  presence  of  some  crue 


A  Point  c»f  coxscilnci:.  103 

tyrant.  Hester's  work  had  fallen  from  her  hands ;  and 
the  faint  color  in  her  cheeks,  which  was  never  deeper  than 
the  delicate  tint  of  a  wild  rose,  faded  altogether  away. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  asked  Mr.  Waldron,  when  the  si- 
lence grew  insupportable. 

"I  hear  you."  muttered  John  Morley  again. 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  answer  me  ? "'  he  cried  impa- 
tiently. "  I  am  not  dependent  upon  your  permission.  I 
need  not  hav'e  spoken  to  you  at  all  about  my  son's  return. 
But  tell  me  that  you  will  give  your  consent  to  his  coming 
back  to  me,  after  all  these  years.'' 

"  And  she  ? ''  whispered  the  husband,  with  bloodless 
lips,  and  a  face  as  of  one  upon  the  point  of  death  from 
some  slow  torture. 

"  Good  heavens  I  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Waldron,  "he  knows 
nothing  about  her.  They  parted,  did  you  not  know  it  ? 
only  a  few  months  after  she  fled.  He  has  been  alone ;  he 
is  alone  now, — ill,  repentant,  suftering  in  mind  and  body. 
You  have  been  well  avenged,  John  Morley." 

"  But  the  woman .'' "  he  breathed,  with  scarcelv  a  mo- 
tion of  his  wan  lips. 

'•  I  know  nothing  of  her,"  was  the  short  answer.  "  I 
am  not  talking  of  her,  but  of  my  son  " — 

He  paused  suddenly,  for  Hester  had  left  her  sear,  and 
placed  herself  at  her  father's  side,  with  her  hand  resting 
fondly  and  protectingly  on  his  arm. 

'•You  are  talking  of  your  son,"  she  said  in  hurried 
tones,  "  and  of  your  own  desolation  ;  but  you  do  not  think 
what  it  has  been  here,  in  this  home,  to  me,  to  my  father. 
You  have  no  right  to  speak  of  desolation  to  us  ;  you,  who 
have  had  your  duties  and  your  pleasures  as  before.  Look 
at  my  father  if  you  wish  to  see  what  your  son  has  done. 
Look  at  me.  We  have  had  no  laughter,  or  smiles,  or  joy 
ful   words,  not   one.  these    nine   vear.s.     If  he  is   to   come 


104  liESTKK    MOKI.EY  S   PROMISE. 

home  again,  why  may  not  she  ?  Has  she  not  repented,  do 
you  thhik?  Would  it  be  impossible  to  bring  back  our 
banished  one  as  well  as  yours  ? " 

"  It  would  be  impossible,"  answered  Mr.  Waldron,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Would  it  be  impossible,  father?"  she  continued. 
"If  she  came  back,  as  his  son  comes  back,  penitent,  and 
suffering,  and  broken-hearted,  could  we  not  take  her  in, 
the  poor,  contrite  creature  ?  I  think  of  her  often,"  and 
Hester's  voice  almost  failed  her.     "  Is  it  impossible  ?  " 

"  She  can  never  come  back,"  replied  John  Morley. 

"  Oh !  it  is  not  right,"  cried  Hester,  in  her  young  en- 
ergy of  passion ;  "  why  should  you  receive  your  son  back, 
if  we  cannot  forgive  her  ?  If  he  comes  back  forgiven,  why 
should  not  we  open  our  door  to  her?" 

"You  are  a  child  yet,  Hester,"  answered  Mr.  Wal- 
dron. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "but  there  are  some  things  hidden 
from  the  wise  and  prudent,  which  are  revealed  to  babes. 
I  would  not  receive  one,  and  cast  out  the  other.  If  she 
should  ever  come  back,  broken-hearted  and  penitent,  be 
sure  I  will  not  turn  away  from  her." 

She  spoke  with  a  kind  of  gracious  hardihood  at  which 
Mr.  Waldron  would  have  smiled  any  other  time,  but  he 
was  too  deeply  in  earnest  just  now  to  be  moved  by  any- 
thing apart  from  his  purpose.  He  had  made  it  a  point 
with  his  conscience  to  obtain  John  Morley's  permission 
for  the  return  of  his  son  ;  and  as  yet  he  had  said  nothing 
which  could  be  construed  into  consent. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  for  John  Morley  looked  like  one 
half  stupefied,  "  my  son  is  truly  repentant,  and  he  implores 
your  father  to  forgive  him,  and  to  suffer  him  to  return 
home.  He  knows  nothing,  and  has  known  nothing  foi 
years,  of  that  unhappy  woman.     If  we  could  discover  her 


A   POINT   OF   CONSCIENCE.  I05 

we  would  do  everything  in  our  power  to  repair  the  past,  as 
far  as  it  ever  can  be  repaired.  Tell  me,  Hester,  is  your 
father  merciful  and  Christian  in  prolonging  the  exile  of 
my  boy?  " 

His  voice  and  attitude  were  full  of  entreaty,  which  had 
lelinquished  all  the  harshness  of  a  claim.  He  listened  for 
Hesters  answer  as  for  a  sentence  which  would  be  the  doom 
of  his  son.  John  Morley  himself  raised  his  lustreless  eyes, 
and  fastened  them  upon  his  daughter. 

"  My  father  will  not  banish  him  from  his  home,"  she 
said,  with  a  singular  and  solemn  sweetness  in  her  tone  ; 
"  what  are  we  that  any  of  us  should  refuse  mercy  to  an- 
other ?  x^re  we  not  bound  to  forgive,  who  have  been  for- 
given of  God  ? " 

"  No,  no  I  "  cried  her  father,  "  you  do  not  knov/  what  the 
wrong  is,  Hester.  I  cannot  do  it.  He  has  cursed  all  my 
life.  They  have  almost,  if  not  quite — I  do  not  know  yet 
whether  they  have  not  quite — destroyed  my  soul !  These 
nine  years  I  have  caught  no  passing  glimpse  of  God's 
mercy.  I  have  been  the  song  of  the  drunkard ;  I  have 
been  exceedingly  filled  with  contempt.  Do  not  let  me  see 
him,  Hester  ;  I  could  not  look  into  his  face,  and  both  of 
us  live  after  it." 

Like  Mr.  Waldron,  he  was  appealing  to  Hester,  as  if 
upon  her  depended  the  sentence  which  would  be  final. 
She  stood  silent  for  a  minute  looking  tenderly  into  his  face, 
with  tears  in  her  clear,  grey  eyes ;  and  when  she  spoke 
there  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  tremor  in  her  voice,  though 
her  answer  was  steady  and  definite. 

"  He  must  come  home,"  she  said  ;  "  he  would  come, 
sooner  or  later,  if  you  withheld  your  consent.  But  he 
must  not  nm  the  risk  of  meeting  you.  He  must  promise 
never  to  enter  our  chapel,  or  pass  up  and  down  this  street 
and  then  vou  will  never  see  him.  Let  him  come  home,  if 
'   5* 


lo6  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

he  will,  but  lie  must  not  intermeddle  with  us.  You  would 
consent  to  that,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  reluctantly. 

'•  And  you,  Mr.  Waldron  ? "  she  continued.  "  Do  you 
understand  our  condition,  and  will  you  agree  to  it?  If  he 
will  but  keep  away  out  of  our  sight  he  will  not  greatly  stir 
our  old  grief.     You  agree  to  it  ? " 

'•  Yes,  yes  !  "  he  replied,  eagerly  ;  "  he  shall  never  come 
across  your  father,  Hester.  God  bless  you,  child  !  But 
shall  we  never  see  you  ?  Will  you  not  come  down  some- 
times to  see  us,  as  you  used  to  do  ?  Could  you  not  for- 
give my  son  well  enough  to  speak  to  him,  and  tell  him  that 
you  have  forgiven  him  ?     You  remember  him,  Hester  ?  " 

"  I  remember  him  well,"  she  said,  sighing  ;  "  I  have  not 
much  to  remember.  Yes,  I  forgive  him,  and  I  forgive  her 
also.  Only  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him  again.  But  if  I  knew 
where  she  was,  I  would  seek  her  out,  and  let  her  know  that 
I  had  not  deserted  her." 

"  You  will  feel  differently  when  you  are  a  woman,"  said 
Mr.  Waldron. 

Hester  shook  her  head,  with  a  faint  smile  in  her  eyes, 
and  went  back  to  her  chair  and  her  sewing.  There  followed 
a  silence  which  told  Mr.  Waldron  plainly  enough  that  it 
was  time  to  go.  He  looked  round  the  room,  dark,  shabby, 
and  bare,  with  the  wear  of  nine  years  upon  it  since  he  had 
last  stood  within  its  walls.  He  glanced  at  John  Morley, 
upon  whom  a  premature  old  age  had  fallen,  more  decrepit 
than  that  of  years.  Hester  herself,  pale,  subdued,  and 
womanly,  bore  a  burden  of  years  which  had  pressed  hardly 
upon  her  in  the  passing.  He  saw  the  work  of  his  son  for 
whom  he  had  been  pleading ;  and  his  heart  felt  heavy  in 
spite  of  his  success.  His  own  home  might  lose  the  light 
cloud  which  had  overshadowed  it,  but  what  could  ever 
chase   away   the  thick  gloom   which  had   fallen  upon  this 


A   POINT   OF   CONSCIENCE.  IO7 

hearth  ?  He  had  attained  his  purpose  ;  but  he  went  away 
saddened,  and  occupying  his  shrewd  head  with  schemes 
for  the  welfare  of  John  Morley  and  Hester,  which  had  little 
chance  of  fulfilment 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   prodigal's   RETURN. 

ROBERT  WALDRON'S  long  banishment  of  nine 
years  had  not  been  without  alleviation  or  enjoyment. 
He  had  satiated  his  restless  love  of  travel,  which  had  been 
the  fever  of  his  youth  ;  and  nov/,  at  the  age  of  thirty-three, 
he  felt  quite  willing  to  settle  down  into  the  luxurious  order 
of  an  English  home,  and  to  enter  upon  the  pleasant  occu- 
pations of  an  English  gentleman.  His  father  had  by  no 
means  misrepresented  wilfully  his  condition  as  one  of  re- 
morse and  contrition ;  he  was  convinced  that  his  son  was 
repenting  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  that  long  past  sin, 
which  was  kept  so  vividly  in  mind  by  himself  and  John 
Morley.  Nor  had  he  been  altogether  deceived  in  this 
matter.  There  were  seasons  when  Robert  Waldron's  vol- 
atile nature  was  plunged  into  profound  depths  of  self-re- 
proach, very  closely  allied  to  repentance.  At  these  times, 
having  no  reticence,  he  appealed  to  his  father  for  sympa- 
thy, and  made  him  the  confidant  of  all  the  prickings  of  his 
conscience.  But  it  was  many  years  since  he  had  seen 
Rose ;  and  but  for  the  mystery  of  her  utter  disappearance, 
which  kept  alive  a  sort  of  interest  in  her  fate,  he  would 
long  ago  have  ceased  to  think  of  her.  He  wished  to  be  at 
peace  with  both  the  world  and  himself;  and  therefore  the 
recollection  of  his  former  folly  stung  him  at  times  into  a 
kind  of  paroxsym  of  regret  and  compunction. 

The   difficulty  of  obtaining  permission  to  visit  Aston 


THE    prodigal's    RETURN.  IO9 

Court  served  to  aggravate  his  home  sickness.  He  very 
well  understood  the  point  his  father  made  of  asking  John 
Morley's  consent ;  and  in  this  he  had  more  consideration 
for  the  injured  husband  than  had  Miss  Waldron,  v.ho  feh 
her  dignity  infringed  by  the  idea  that  her  family  should 
stand  upon  such  terms  with  that  of  a  tradesman.  Read- 
ily enough  Robert  acquiesced  in  the  conditions  laid  down 
by  Hester.  He  promised  to  avoid  any  contact  with  John 
Morley,  and  never  to  go  to  the  chapel  where  he  worship- 
ped, nor  into  the  street  where  he  dwelt.  Having  bound 
himself  by  these  promises,  he  turned  his  face  homewards 
with  all  the  gladness  which  his  emotional  temperament 
experienced  in  at  last  gaining  a  long-delayed  pleasure. 

It  was  ,with  a  very  keen  feeling  of  delight  that  he 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  formal  front  of  his  father's 
house,  with  its  dark  back-ground  of  trees.  Mr.  Waldron,  a 
sturdy,  hale  old  man  not  much  aged  since  he  had  seen 
him  last,  was  walking  uf  and  down  the  terrace  in  expecta- 
tion of  his  arrival,  and  Robert  called  impetuously  upon 
the  coachman  to  stop,  and  sprang  from  the  carriage  to  re- 
ceive his  welcome.  The  father  and  son  held  one  another's 
hand,  in  the  strong,  stern  grasp  which  is  the  acme  of  Brit- 
ish emotion,  and  gazed  without  speaking  into  each  other's 
face.  Mr.  Waldron  could  not  suppress  a  thrill  of  pride  in 
this  fine,  handsome  man,  no  longer  a  youth,  whom  he 
could  call  his  son ;  and  for  a  few  minutes  his  satisfaction 
was  both  profound  and  untroubled.  Yet,  as  second 
thoughts  came,  he  felt  a  little  disconcerted,  for  he  had 
been  picturing  to  himself  a  feeble,  broken-spirited,  shame- 
faced prodigal,  coming  back  with  the  mournful  confession 
in  his  mouth,  "  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and 
before  thee."  True,  there  was  a  moisture  in  Robert's  fine 
eyes,  and  his  mustache  rose  and  fell  with  the  tremulous 
motion  of  his  lips  ;  but  there  was  the  rude  glow  of  health, 


no  HESTER    MOKi.EV'S   PROMISi^. 

and  the  sun-burnt  hue  of  travel  on  his  face.  Beyond  this 
and  below  it  there  was  an  indefinable  air  of  general  self- 
complacency,  not  in  offensive  obtrusiveness — it  was  no 
more  than  the  gentlemanly  self-approbation  of  one  who 
for  the  time  being  has  no  special  reason  for  diffidence — 
yet  it  was  certainly  very  far  removed  from  the  mien  of  the 
prodigal,  who  needs  the  best  robe  brought  forth,  and 
shoes  put  upon  his  feet,  and  a  ring  on  his  hand.  All 
these  Robert  had  supplied  for  himself. 

He  embraced  his  sister  with  the  same  affectionate  agi- 
tation which  he  had  shown  in  meeting  his  father  ;  and  he 
expressed  with  warm,  quick  feeling  his  delight  ih  being  at 
home.  There  had  not  been  so  lively  a  dinner  hour  at  As- 
ton Court  since  he  had  left  it.  Miss  Waldron,  herself  be- 
came almost  gay,  and  laughed  short  little  spurts  of  laugh- 
ter, like  the  first  efforts  of  a  fountain  to  play,  after  its 
pipes  have  long  been  closed  up.  Mr.  Waldron  found  his 
taste  and  enjoyment  of  humor  and  repartee  returning,  and 
forgot  that  his  son  was  a  sinner,  until  Miss  Waldron  left 
them  alone  in  the  dining-room.  They  drew  up  their  chairs 
before  a  comfortable  fire  ;  and  then  there  came  one  of 
those  pauses  full  of  satisfaction,  when  the  heart  is  gather- 
ing to  itself  all  the  pleasures,  rare  and  fleeting,  of  the  first 
moments  of  reunion.  Robert's  face  was  shining  with  un- 
clouded happiness,  when  his  father  broke  the  pleasant 
silence. 

"  Robert,"  he  said,  sharply  ;  and  the  son  looked  up  to 
see  his  smile  vanished,  and  his  face  overcast. 

"  Yes,  father,"  he  answered,  in  some  amazement. 

"  Robert,"  repeated  Mr.  Waldron,  "  I  was  not  pre- 
pared to  see  you  so  light-hearted.  This  is  not  what  your 
letters  led  me  to  expect.  I  have  a  hard  question  or  two 
to  ask  you,  my  boy,  and  it  is  as  well  to  ask  them  first  as 
last." 


THE    PRODIGALS    RETURN.  Ill 

The  air  of  gay  and  tender  sentiment  fled  fiom  Robert'3 
face,  which  he  turned  partially  aside  from  his  father's  keen 
scrutiny. 

"  First  of  all,"  he  said,  "  you  must  tell  me  truly,  Rob- 
ert, what  has  become  of  that  poor  girl  ?  " 

"  Father,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Robert,  in  a  tone 
of  irritation;  "  I  can  only  repeat  what  I  have  said  already. 
She  left  me  at  Falaise,  five  months  after  we  went  away, 
and  I  have 'never  heard  a  word  from  her  or  of  her  since. 
I  have  done  everything  a  man  could  do  for  my  own  peace 
of  mind ;  but  I  could  never  find  the  slightest  trace  of  her. 
It  was  not  that  I  wanted  to  see  her  again — we  had  been 
too  miserable  together  for  that — but  I  wished  to  make  a 
provision  for  her.  I  would  have  given  a  good  deal,  either 
of  time  or  money,  to  make  sure  she  was  not  in  want." 

"Robert,"  remarked  Mr.  Waldron,  after  a  pause,  "] 
thought  you  were  a  repentant  man." 

"  So  I  am,"  cried  Robert,  hotly  ;  "  there  are  times 
when  I  could  cut  off  my  right  hand,  if  that  would  undo 
what  I  did.  But  I  cannot  feel  like  that  always  ;  it  would 
have  been  unnatural  to  feel  like  that  to-day,  when  I  see 
you  and  my  sister  again.  Perhaps  to-morrow  I  shall  have 
one  of  my  fits,  and  then  you  will  see  if  I  am  not  repentant. 
Why  will  you  not  let  me  enjoy  myself  while  I  can  .'  " 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  fits,"  said  Mr.  Waldron, 
who  had  pursued  an  even  tenor  of  unemotional  life,  both 
public,  social,  and  religious ;  "  a  man  is  a  penitent  until 
he  obtains  pardon.  Then  he  becomes  a  religious  man 
and  a  member  of  the  Church,  and  steadily  fulfils  his  duty 
towards  God  and  man.  There  is  no  need  of  fits.  Are 
you  seeking  pardon  ?  " 

"Not  just  at  this  moment,"  he  answered;  but  his 
light  tone  changed  to  one  of  respect,  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Mr.  Waldron's  anxious  face.      "  Dear  father,"  he  added, 


112  HKSTKR    M()1<LEV  S    rROMISK. 

"  I  never  was  anything  but  a  graceless  fellow,  not  worthy 
of  your  anxiety.  But  if  you  mean,  have  I  ever  prayed  to 
God  to  forgive  my  sin  towards  Rose,  and  to  save  her  from 
further  evil — why,  there  have  been  whole  days  when  that 
prayer  alone  has  gone  up  from  my  heart  to  Him." 

His  voice  faltered,  and  his  changeful  eyes  were  filled 
for  a  moment  with  tears. 

"I  wish  to  Heaven,"  he  cried,  as  he  recovered  from 
the  transient  sadness,  "  I  could  do  some  tremendous  pen- 
ance, and  have  done  with  it.  But  what  will  satisfy  you, — 
you  and  God  ?  I  have  been  away  nine  of  the  best  years 
of  my  life,  and  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  atone  for  my 
fault ;  and  I  am  ready  to  do  everything  you  can  suggest. 
Why  cannot  we  let  by-gones  be  by-gones  .'' " 

Mr.  Waldron  sighed  heavily.  This  was  not  the  repent- 
ance he  had  looked  for,  the  repentance  which  was  seemly 
in  his  son,  the  repentance  of  which  he  had  spoken  almost 
vauntingly  to  his  minister.  There  was  a  doubt  in  his  mind 
that  Miss  Waldron  would  be  no  better  satisfied  with  its 
quality  than  himself;  and  Miss  Waldron  was  something 
like  a  domestic  pope — infallible  and  autocratic.  Robert 
was  settling  down  again  into  a  quiet  and  self-sympathizing 
mood,  which  could  look,  through  the  mist  of  years,  at  the 
other  actors  in  the  sad  drama  of  the  past. 

"  Poor  Morley  !  "  he  said ;  "  what  has  become  of 
him .?  " 

"  He  is  a  ruined  man,"  said  his  father,  sternly  ;  "  you 
should  see  him  to  know  what  you  have  done.  He  is 
ruined  in  all  senses  ;  for  I  hear  that  he  has  no  business, 
and  is  verging  towards  bankruptcy." 

"  We  can  help  him  there,"  exclaimed  Robert,  with 
impetuosity  ;  "  we  must  save  him  from  that !  ' 

"  John  Morley,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  dryly,  "  unless  I 
mistake  him  greatly,  will  take  no  help  from  our  hands. 
We  are  not  in  a  position  to  do  him  an^'  favor." 


THE    PROUIGAL'S    RETURN'.  II3 

It  w;is  a  point  of  delicacy  wiiich  the  elder  man  could 
comprehend,  while  the  younger  could  not.  There  was  a 
vigorous  hardness  and  manhood  in  Mr.  VValdron's  nature,, 
which  would  have  rejected  indignantly  the  aid  of  a  dis- 
honored hand  ;  while  his  son  would  have  seized  the  mean- 
est help  which  would  deliver  him  out  of  present  difficulties. 

"  There  was  a  little  girl,"  said  Robert,  in  a  tone  of 
musing. 

"  Hester,"  answered  Mr.  Waldron,  "  the- sweetest  girl 
I  have  ever  seen.  She  has  the  face  of  a  saint — an  angel, 
I  was  going  to  say.  I  often  watch  her  as  we  stand  up  to 
sing,  and  I  have  sometimes  thought  how  greatly  I  should 
have  rejoiced  had  God  blessed  me  with  such  a  daughter. 
Not  but  that  Miss  Waldron  is  everything  a  father  could 
wish  ;  I  have  never  found  any  fault  in  her.  But  Hester — 
she  used  to  come  here  occasionally — is  so  sweet  and  ten- 
der and  gentle  !  Ah !  John  Morley  is  not  altogether  lost 
while  he  possesses  a  child  like  Hester." 

"  Little  Hetty  ? "  said  Robert,  absently  ;  "  I  remember 
her  now.     And  she  comes  here  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Not  while  you  are  here,"  replied  his  father ;  "  I  shall 
see  her  only  from  my  pew ;  and  ]\Iiss  Waldron  will  meet 
her  at  her  classes  ;  that  must  suffice." 

The  old  man  sighed  as  if  over  a  lost  pleasure  ;  but  he 
smiled  once  more  as  he  looked  at  the  face  of  his  only  son. 
The  hard  questions  he  had  intended  to  ask,  if  there  were 
any  more,  had  slipped  out  of  his  mind ;  and  Robert  was 
not  one  to  remind  him  of  them.  The  evening  took  again 
the  brightness  of  its  first  welcome ;  and  the  welcome  of 
the  prodigal  was  not  further  clouded  by  ill-timed  retro- 
spections. 

For  a  few  days  Little  Aston  was  busy  with  the  "return 
of  Robert  Waldron.  The  old  story  was  raked  up  and 
sifted  with  keen  comments  and  discussions.     Already  the 


114  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

details  of  the  ancient  scandal  were  almost  lost  in  obscurity  ; 
and  some  persons  were  not  sure  that  it  was  merely  the 
step-mother  of  Hester  Morley  who  had  left  her  husband's 
house,  and  never  been  heard  of  since.  But  Robert  Wal- 
dron,  handsome,  young,  and  rich,  could  not  remain  under 
censure.  His  father  bad  never  been  a  favorite,  for  he  had 
come  among  them  as  a  stranger  and  dissenter,  and  had 
held  himself  aloof  from  a  town  in  which  he  had  no  manner 
of  interest.  But  the  young  squire,  as  Robert  was  called, 
had  been  a  boy  in  their  streets,  had  frequented  their  shops, 
and  had  made  boyish  acquaintance  with  many  of  them. 
It  was  natural  to  him  to  make  himself  popular.  Besides 
this,  now  he  was  come  back  after  his  long  absence,  he 
attended  the  parish  church,  instead  of  going  to  the  chapel, 
to  which  Miss  Waldron's  carriage  drove  every  Sunday  in 
irritating  pomp.  The  vicar,  with  his  three  elegant  and 
marriageable  daughters,  welcomed  him  cordially.  The 
small  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  paid  him  homage  as  the 
most  travelled,  the  most  cultivated,  and  the  most  agree- 
able personage  in  their  narrow  world.  He  was  no  longer 
one  among  the  million,  as  when  he  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  gulf  of  London,  or  in  the  stream  of  tourists  which 
flooded  the  continent.  He  found  himself  the  chief  man 
of  the  place  ;  and  he  enjoyed  the  distinction.     • 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A   BLOW    IN   THE   DARK. 

FOR  a  few  months  the  pleasure  of  being  flattered  and 
courted  by  all  about  him  was  sufficient  for  Robert 
Waldron;  and  he  gave  himself  up  to  it  with  the  zest  of 
one  who  had  for  some  time  been  a  stranger  to  such  tokens 
of  esteem.  But  there  was  a  secret  fetter  chafing  him.  He 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  there  was  one  street  of  the 
town  where  he  must  not  set  his  foot,  and  one  house  which 
he  must  not  pass.  There  was  the  galling  and  bitter  feel- 
ing of  not  being  free  to  go  where  he  would.  He  had  his 
hours  of  sentimental  memory,  and  moments  of  regret 
which  would  not  die,  though  it  slept  for  long  periods;  and 
in  both  of  these  moods  he  longed  to  see  again  the  house 
where  John  Morley  dwelt,  and  from  which  he  had  stolen 
away  Rose.  A  feverish  desire  possessed  him  from  time 
to  time  to  meet  John  Morley  himself,  and  to  judge  with 
his  own  eyes  whether  he  had  wrought  so  great  a  wrong  to 
him  as  his  father  described.  Hester,  too,  stood  before  his 
memory  as  the  grave,  fair,  pleasant  child,  of  whom  he  had 
been  so  fond,  and  who  had  loved  him  with  such  childish 
devotion.  The  mere  fact  that  he  was  prohibited  from 
entering  the  chapel  where  his  father  and  sister  worshipped 
made  it  seem  the  most  desirable  place  to  attend  ;  and  he 
chafed  every  Sunday  when  they  set  out  to  their  early 
service,  leaving  him  behind  for  the  later  hours  of  the 
church.     He  ctcw  to  listen    with   morbid  attention  to  the 


Il6  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

tittle-tattle  of  chapel  affairs  which  had  formerly  bored  him 
so  much,  that  he  might  catch  the  name  of  John  Morley  or 
Hester — names  which  stung  him  with  a  not  altogether 
unpleasant  pain. 

It  was  not  in  Robert  Waldron's  nature  to  resist  and 
master  the  inclination  which  had  taken  possession  of  him. 
He  had  never  conquered  any  caprice.  He  began  to  haunt 
the  street  stealthily  in  the  long  dark  nights  of  winter,  after 
the  shutters  of  the  houses  were  put  up,  and  there  was  no 
light  except  that  of  the  far-apart  lamps.  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  street,  reminding  him  of  those  in  foreign  towns  ; 
and  at  night,  when  he  was  recognized  by  none,  in  his 
great  coat  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  and  his  felt  hat  drawn 
over  his  face,  he  came  now  and  then  upon  the  scenes 
which  amused  him,  and  enlivened  the  dull  routine  of  his 
country  life.  But  of  the  home  of  John  Morley  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  except  the  dark  walls  and  closed  doors 
and  windows.  It  stood  in  the  darkest  part  of  the  street, 
in  the  middle  distance  between  two  lamps,  and  never  did 
a  single  gleam  of  light  appear  upon  its  black  front.  Some- 
times he  remained  in  the  doorway  of  an  empty  house 
opposite,  smokin;-  his  cigar,  while  he  awaited  some  token 
of  the  interior  life;  but  there  came  none.  All  was  black 
and  still  as  a  grave.  It  became  at  length  a  necessary 
penance  to  him  to  haunt  the  mournful  dwelling,  and  keep 
a  sentinel's  watch  upon  its  doors  and  windows.  He  would 
leave  the  comfort  and  repose  and  shelter  of  his  fathers 
house  to  march  with  heavy  steps  to  and  fro  before  this 
house  which  he  had  made  desolate,  with  a  vague  sense  of 
atoning  for  his  sin  by  his  voluntary  exposure  to  discom- 
fort almost  amounting  to  pain,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
was  satisfying  his  own  capricious  curiosity.  It  was  litde 
else  than  the  purposeless  disquietude  of  a  purposeless 
nature. 


A   BLOW    IN   THE    DARK.  II7 

The  habit  grew  upon  him  so  strongly  th^t  \*hen  Mr. 
and  Miss  Waldron  went  up  to  London,  upon  the  re-open- 
ing of  Parhament,  he  stayed  behind — for  a  few  days  only, 
he  said,  not  caring  to  confess  to  himself  the  whim  that 
bound  him  to  the  place.  He  soon  fell  into  a  daily  routine, 
ending  every  night,  when  it  was  darkest,  in  patrolling 
the  forbidden  street,  and  smoking  his  cigar  under  the 
closed  window  of  the  room  where  Rose  had  left  all  the 
traces  of  her  habitation  in  that  house.  The  shutters  of 
that  window  were  always  closed,  but  Robert  knew  nothing 
of  thnt.  He  could  not  run  the  risk  of  passing  it  by  day- 
light. 

He  was  sauntering  past  the  silent  house  one  night,  a 
little  later  than  usual,  dreaming  vaguely  as  he  was  wont  to 
do  of  the  life  within,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  his  head 
bowed  down,  when  there  fell  suddenly  upon  him,  how  or 
whence  he  knew  not,  a  blow  w-hich  felled  him  instantly  to 
the  ground  I  He  made  a  faint  effort  to  defend  himself  and 
to  cry  for  help  ;  but  before  he  could  do  either,  the  blow, 
savage  and  revengeful,  fell  heavily  upon  his  head,  and  he 
felt  nothing  more.  He  lay  motionless  and  lifeless  upon 
the  pavement  in  the  dark  corner  where  John  Morley's 
house  stood,  and  at  an  hour  of  the  night  when  there  were 
few  passers  by.  When  Robert  Waldron  opened  his  eyes 
again,  feebly  and  with  pain,  he  saw  only  a  strange  room, 
dimly  lighted  by  a  shaded  candle  set  upon  a  table  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  upon  which  he  was  lying.  A  face  he  did 
not  know  was  turned  towards  him  with  the  evident  solici- 
tude of  one  who  was  watching  for  the  first  sign  of  returning 
consciousness.  It  was  the  face  of  a  young  man  of  about 
four-and-twenty,  frank  and  pleasant,  with  a  professional 
look  upon  it  that  spoke  unmistakably  of  a  medical  student. 
A  small  case  of  instruments  lay  upon  the  bed  close  to  his 
hand,  while  his  fingers  gently  pressed   Robert  Waldron's 


Il8  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

pulse.  He  closed  his  eyes  again  in  a  stupor  of  bewilder* 
ment  and  exhaustion,  but  in  an  instant  a  cup  was  held  to 
his  lips. 

"  Drink,"  said  an  authoritative  voice  \  "  it  is  a  cordial 
that  will  revive  you." 

I'he  draught  fulfilled  its  work  so  well  that  he  reopened 
his  heavy  eyelids  and  gazed  vacantly  about  him.  He  was 
lying  in  bed  in  a  large  low  chamber  which  he  had  certainly 
nevei  seen  before  ;  his  head  was  bound  up  tightly  with 
fillets  of  linen,  but  when  he  attempted  to  raise  his  right 
hand  to  feel  it,  he  was  compelled  to  relinquish  the  effort, 
with  a  groan  of  pain. 

"  A  dislocation  of  the  shoulder,"  said  the  stranger,  as 
if  replying  to  a  question,  "  and  some  heavy  contusions 
about  the  head  ;  done  with  a  blunt  instrument,  a  poker  oi 
large  hammer.     Do  you  think  you  can  speak  to  me  now?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Robert,  faintly. 

"You  ought  not  to  speak  at  all,"  said  the  young  medi- 
cal man,  in  a  tone  of  regret ;  "  but  I'm  only  passing 
through  this  town,  and  I  must  go  on  in  the  morning.  So 
we  must  make  the  best  of  our  circumstances.  Tell  me  all 
you  can  recollect  before  this  blow." 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"Can't  tell  you,"  was  the  reply;  "  I  found  you  on  the 
pavement,  and  I  knocked  at  the  nearest  door  to  ask  for 
help.  The  people  here  don't  know  you.  Are  you  a 
stranger,  like  myself?" 

"  Stop  a  moment,  let  me  think,"  said  Robert. 

It  seemed  an  almost  insurmountable  difficulty  to  recall 
the  events  of  the  night;  but  after  a  while  he  remembered 
where  he  had  been  standing  when  the  savage  and  sudden 
attack  was  made  upon  him  from  behind.  He  tried  to 
turn  his  head  upon  the  pillow  so  as  to  bring  his  mouth 
nearer  to  the  stranger's  ear. 


A   BLOW    IX    THE    DARK.  I  I9 

"What  is  their  name?"  he  whispered. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  stranger;  "there  is  an  old 
man,  and  a  girl, — very  good-hearted  people.  They  don't 
know  you  ;  so  most  likely  you  don't  know  them." 

'•'Couldn't  you  find  it  out.-*"  he  asked,  feverishly. 

"  Well,  there  are  some  book-shelves  yonder,"  replied 
his  attendant,  "  and  I'll  look  to  please  you.  But  you 
must  keep  your  strength  to  tell  me  what  complaint  to 
make  at  the  police-office.  You  must  have  been  set  upon 
savagely." 

"Find  out  the  name,"  urged  Robert,  faintly. 

His  brain  ached  too  much  for  any  clear  thought ;  yet 
he  watched  eagerly  while  the  stranger  took  a  book  from 
the  shelves  upon  the  wall  and  brought  it  to  the  light.  It 
was  bound  in  crimson  morocco,  ricJily  embellished,  with 
the  edges  of  the  leaves  gilded  ;  but  upon  opening  it,  it 
proved  to  be  nothing  but  an  old  dog-eared  fairy  book, 
with  some  of  the  pages  torn,  and  all  of  them  soiled  with 
frequetit  reading. 

"  This  is  odd,"  said  the  student ;  "  they  must  be  lavish 
with  their  gilding  and  book-binding  here.  There  is  no 
name  in  it ;  but  I'll  find  another.  I  chose  one  of  the 
handsomest-looking." 

He  brought  a  second  volume  to  the  liglit  ;  a  Bible, 
fastened  with  silver  clasps.  He  opened  the  front  page, 
and  read  in  a  cautious  undertone,  with  a  glance  towards 
the  closed  door,  "  Hester  Morley,  from  her  loving  mother, 
Rose  Morley." 

Robert  Waldron  shut  his  eyes,  and  turned  his  bruised 
and  aching  head  towards  the  wall,  trying  to  realize  his 
position  ;  but  thought  was  impossible  to  him.  There  was 
only  one  thing  clear  to  his  mind,  that  nothing  must  be 
found  out  about  him  either  in  the  house  or  the  town.  He 
slowly  gathered  together  his  strength,  and  without  turning 


I20  HESTER    MORLEY' S   PROMISE. 

to  the  medical  student,  he  asked,  "  Shall  I  be  laid  up  here 
long?" 

"  That  depends  upon  yourself,"  was  the  answer ;  "  be 
calm,  and  a  few  days  may  see  you  well  enough  to  give 
your  evidence  safely.  Fret  and  fume,  and  you'll  have 
brain  fever.  In  the  meantime,  what  shall  I  say  to  the 
police?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Robert. 

"  Nothing  ?  "  repeated  the  stranger ;  "  you  were  all  but 
murdered,  man  !  You'll  have  a  near  touch  yet;  I  wish  I 
could  stop  and  see  you  through  it." 

*'  Stop ! "  said  Robert ;  "  I'm  rich  enough  to  make  it 
worth  your  while.  Say  nothing  about  me  in  the  town,  and 
don't  let  anybody,  doctor  or  nurse,  come  near  me.  I 
must  not  be  known  here.  Do  you  understand  ?  Not  a 
soul  must  know  about  this." 

He  spoke  with  violent  and  warning  pains  in  his  throb- 
bing temples,  but  he  uttered  these  sentences  emphatically, 
and  with  intense  anxiety.  The  young  man  had  leaned 
over  him  to  catch  his  labored  tones,  and  continued  to  look 
searchingly  into  his  face  when  he  had  done.  "  Ah  !  "  he 
said,  "  some  mystery,  is  it  ?  Well,  well,  I'm  willing  ;  so 
set  your  mind  at  ease.  You'll  have  enough  to  do  to  keep 
yourself  calm.  Neither  doctor  nor  nurse  shall  come  near 
you,  unless  there  is  more  danger  than  I  foresee.  And 
your  own  mother  would  hardly  know  you.  There, — be  sat- 
isfied.    I'll  take  care  of  you." 

Robert  Waldron  scarcely  heard  the  end  of  this  speech, 
for  a  heavy  stupor,  whether  of  sleep  or  insensibility,  crept 
over  him  again.  There  were  intervals  during  the  next 
forty-eight  hours  in  which  his  mind  tried  to  struggle  to- 
wards some  lucid  thought  and  memory,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  had  a  dim  perception  of  seeing  always  the  same  good- 
tempered,   masculine  face  about  him  and  of  hearing  the 


A    BLOW    IX    THE    DAKK;.  121 

same  gruff  but  not  unpleasant  accents  whenever  a  voice 
penetrated  to  his  brain ;  and  he  felt  himself  handled  by 
strong  skilful  hands.  But  as  to  where  he  was,  or  who  he 
was,  or  how  he  had  been  brought  to  this  condition,  or 
how  long  he  had  been  in  it,  not  a  single  ray  of  intelligence 
came  across  him.  With  no  sensation  except  that  he  was 
all  head, — and  that  a  bruised  and  aching  bead. — Robert 
Waldron  lay  under  John  Morley's  roof;  while  the  house- 
keeper at  Aston  Court  ascribed  h'.s  absence  to  one  of  his 
sudden  whims,  and  his  father  and  sister  believed  h.ta 
quietly  and  safely  at  home. 
6 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

lawson's  attic. 

npHE  monotony  of  John  Morley's  household  had  been 
-^  exceedingly  disturbed  by  this  strange  incident,  sur- 
passing all  the  fanciful  events  which  Hester  sometimes 
allowed  her  imagination  to  invent.  That  such  a  dark  and 
villainous  crime  should  have  been  perpetrated  at  their 
very  door,  in  the  secure  streets  of  an  English  town ;  that 
an  assassin  should  have  been  lurking  in  the  shadow  of 
their  walls,  seemed  too  incredible  for  belief  Yet  there 
lay  the  intended  victim  in  her  own  chamber,  the  only  one 
which  had  been  ready  for  his  reception  ;  and  the  other 
stranger,  who  stated  frankly  who  he  was,  and  where  he 
came  from  and  was  going  to,  was  watching  over  him  with 
the  patient  fidelity  of  an  old  friend.  He  had  told  her  that 
the  almost  murdered  man  desired  to  keep  the  crime  a 
secret !  but  this  only  increased  her  amazement.  John 
Morley  had  been  scarcely  moved  from  his  imperturbable 
gloom,  and  aj^peared  willing  to  accept  the  event  as  one 
of  ordinary  occurrence.  He  considered  it  his  duty  to 
appear  every  morning  at  the  door  of  the  patient's  room, 
to  inquire  how  he  was  getting  on  ;  when  his  voice  seemed 
to  have  a  troubling  effect  upon  the  almost  insensible  form 
'jf  the  sufferer.  But  having  discharged  this  duty,  he  did 
iiot  care  to  discuss  the  circumstance  as  Hester  would 
have  liked.  He  told  her  she  must  wait  for  the  stranger's 
recovery  befoFe  her  questions  could   be   answered;   and 


lawson's  attic.  123 

then  he  hastened  to  shut  himself  up  with  his  books.  He 
was  no  more  communicative  with  the  neighbors,  who, 
hearing  various  confused  rumors,  found  some  excuse  for 
invading  his  solitude.  A  gentleman,  who  was  a  stranger 
lo  him,  had  met  with  a  serious  accident  at  his  door;  and 
a  friend  of  his  had  asked  shelter  and  help  for  him.  That 
was  all  he  knew,  said  John  Morley.  Neither  had  Hester 
an  opportunity  of  talking  over  the  marvellous  occurrence 
with  Lawson,  for  he  had  been  unaccountably  absent  from 
his  worksho-p  for  two  days.  Such  a  thing  had  never  hap- 
pened before  in  Hester's  memory  ;  except  about  six  months 
ago,  when  he  had  travelled  to  Southampton  to  meet  his 
mother,  who  had  lived  till  then  with  her  only  daughter  in 
a  small  town  in  Burgundy.  The  third  morning,  when  she 
found  the  attic  empty,  she  resolved  to  seek  Lawson  out  in 
his  own  home  and  ascertain  the  cause  of  his  absence. 
She  had  never  been  to  Lawson's  dwelling,  and,  strange  to 
say,  scarcely  knew  where  he  lived.  She  had  been  so 
accustomed  to  know  that  he  was  upstairs  in  the  attic  the 
first  thin^  in  the  morning  and  the  last  at  night,  that  she 
had  hardly  ever  thought  of  where  he  went  to  when  he  left 
the  house  ;  while  he  had  never  mentioned  his  own  affairs, 
more  than  to  tell  her  that  his  mother  was  coming  over  to 
him  now  her  daughter  was  dead.  All  that  Hester  knew 
was  that  they  lived  somewhere  in  a  court,  which  had  its 
entrance  nearly  opposite  the  chapel  at  the  top  of  the  old- 
fashioned  street. 

She  found  admission  to  the  court  by  a  low  narrow 
passage  between  two  shops,  where  she  had  to  walk  care- 
fully in  semi-obscurity,  until  she  came  to  a  long  close  strip 
of  rough  pavement,  around  which  were  built  tall  thin 
houses,  three  stories  high,  and  but  one  room  in  breadth. 
A  dull  and  murky  winter  sky  seemed  to  lie  flat  upon  the 
roofs,  closing  them  in  with   its  gray  and   cold  covering. 


124  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

Most  of  them  were  untenanted,  as  was  plainly  ^lown  by 
their  broken  panes  and  rotting  casements;  and  Hester 
directed  her  steps  towards  a  door  which  had  "  Public 
Bakehouse"  painted  above  it.  There  was  a  small  bank- 
rupt-looking shop  on  the  ground  floor;  and,  as  Hester 
entered  it,  a  middle-aged  woman,  wiping  the  dough  from 
her  hands,  came  forward  to  attend  to  her. 

''  Can  you  tell  me  where  Lawson,  Mr.  Morley's  book- 
binder, lives  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"He  lives  here.  Miss,"  she  answered,  "in  the  top 
story,  both  rooms,  he  and  Madam.  You  don't  know 
Madam,  perhaps,  Miss  }  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Hester,  with  a  new  sentiment  of 
curiosity. 

"  She's  a  foreigner,"  continued  the  woman,  mysteri- 
ously. "I  charge  half-a-crown  more  a  month  for  that. 
Not  that  she's  like  a  good  many  of  them  French,  She's 
as  clean  as  a  nut ;  but  she's  queer.  She  has  wood-ashes 
out  of  my  oven,  and  puts  'em  in  a  box,  and  sets  it  under 
her  petticoats,  instead  of  having  a  fire  ;  which  yhe'll  be 
burned  to  death  some  day.  It's  six  months  since  she's 
been  here,  and  she's  never  set  foot  out  of  doors  yet.  She 
hasn't  got  a  bonnet,  I  think ;  only  a  queer  tall  cap,  as 
sets  all  the  children  to  laugh.  She  can't  speak  a  word  of 
English,  nor  we  a  word  of  French  ;  so  we  can't  have  rauch 
to  do  with  one  another,  you  know." 

"  She  must  have  been  very  dull  and  lonely,"  said 
Hester,  self-reproachfully. 

"  No,  bless  you.  Miss  !  "  answered  the  shop-w(yman  ; 
"  she's  as  gay  as  can  be,  and  sings  like  an  old  canary. 
You  just  hark  up  here." 

She  opened  a  door  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of  steps 
which  was    profoundly  dark,  and  Hester   heard  a    clear. 


LAWSON-'S   ATTIC.  1 2$ 

pleasant  old  voice,  failing  a  little  in  the  higher  notes,  but 
set  to  a  merry  tune. 

"  That's  the  way  up,  Miss,"  said  the  woman ;  "  but  as 
you've  never  been  before,  I'll  go  on  first  and  show  you  the 
room." 

Besides  being  in  dense  darkness,  the  staircase  was  a 
winding  one,  with  no  single  step  straight,  and  a  thick  rope, 
rather  sticky  and  dirty  to  the  touch,  served  in  the  stead 
of  bannisters.  Beyond  a  faint  glimmer  from  the  open 
door  below,  there  was  not  a  gleam  of  light ;  and  Hester 
only  knew  she  was  getting  near  the  top  by  the  increasing 
shrillness  and  vigor  of  the  cheery  song. 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you  if  Lawson  was  at  home,"  she  said, 
checking  her  guide  as  she  was  about  to  knock  at  the  door 
of  the  room  from  whence  the  sound  proceeded.  She  had 
learned  French  from  a  master,  and  could  resd  it  fluently  ; 
but  she  was  a  little  afraid  oi  encountering  some  living 
Frenchwoman,  who,  no  doubt,  could  speak  only  in  an 
unintelligible  patois. 

"  Oh,  he's  at  home,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  he's  been  at 
home  these  two  or  three  days,  ill.  Mr.  Lawson,  here's  a 
young  lady  come  to  see  you  and  Madam." 

The  song  ceased  the  instant  the  door  was  opened ; 
and  a  small,  round,  comely  old  woman  met  Hester,  with  a 
face  as  clear-cut  and  fresh  and  free  from  wrinkles  as  her 
own.  She  was  curtseying,  gesticulating,  and  talking  with 
as  much  ease  and  fluency  in  her  limbs  as  in  her  tongue, 
Hester  stood  confused  and  abashed,  but  as  she  advanced 
farther  into  the  room,  the  familiar  voice  of  Lawson  made 
itself  heard. 

"  It  is  Madame,  my  mother.  Miss  Hester,"  he  said  ; 
"she  is  telling  you  that  you   are  welcome." 

He  was  seated  near  an  open  hearth,  upon  which 
burned  a  few  smoky  coals,  held  together  by  rusty  hand- 


126  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

irons.  The  room,  to  English  eyes,  looked  comfortless, 
even  for  the  abode  of  a  workman.  The  only  good  pierc 
of  furniture  was  a  bed  set  in  one  corner,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  a  handsome  counterpane  of  some  scarlet  stuft", 
with  a  large  square  pillow  the  cover  of  which  was  as  white 
as  snow,  resting  upon  it.  For  the  rest,  the  chamber  was 
poverty-stricken  and  squalid.  A  small  window  looked  out 
upon  the  court,  and  in  two  other  places  in  the  sloping 
roof,  a  pane  of  glass  had  been  let  in,  through  which  the 
gray  cold  canopy  of  the  sky  could  be  seen.  Three  small 
crucifixes  ornamented  the  bare  mantel-shelf,  and  a  chaplet 
of  brown  beads  hung  on  a  wall  near  them,  balanced  on 
the  other  side  by  a  portrait,  painted  in  showy  colors,  of  a 
French  actress  in  her  theatrical  costume. 

Hester  could  not  make  all  these  observations  at  once, 
for  her  attention  was  concentrated  upon  Lawson.  He 
looked  ghastly,  his  face  being  more  meagre  and  bleak 
than  ever.  He  could  scarcely  raise  himself  from  his  seat, 
for  his  limbs  trembled  like  those  of  a  person  barely  recov- 
ered from  some  severe  shock ;  and  while  he  stood,  he  was 
obliged  to  support  himself  by  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"I'm  not  ill.  Miss  Hester,"  he  said  hastily;  "it's  only 
upon  my  nerves.  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two ; 
but  it  was  of  no  use  coming  to  my  work  when  I  could  do 
nothing.     Look  here." 

He  tried  to  hold  out  his  hand,  but  it  shook  as  if  stricken 
with  palsy ;  and  when  she  looked  him  in  the  face,  the 
tears  were  rolling  fast  down  his  hollow  cheeks. 

"  Lawson,"  she  said,  sorrowfully,  "  you  have  been  tak 
ing  opium  again." 

"It's  only  on  the  nerves,  Miss  Hester,"  he  sobbed  ; 
'  try  to  talk  a  bit  to  Madame,  my  dear." 

She  turned  away  to  look  again  at  Lawson's  strange 
mother.     The  old   Frenchwoman  was    dressed  well   and 


LAWSOX  S    ATTIC.  12^ 

tastily,  though  her  clothes  were  poor  :  and  she  wore  a 
picturesque  cap,  rivalling  the  pillow-case  in  whiteness. 
All  her  gestures  were  lively  and  flexible,  as  if  nothing  of 
the  rigidity  of  old  age  had  sei7ed  upon  her  joints.  She 
motioned  to  Hester  to  take  a  seat  beside  her,  and  chuck- 
led merrily  to  herself  as  she  complied. 

"If  you  would  talk  slowly,"  said  Hester,  trying  timidly 
her  own  powers,  "perhaps  I  could  understand  you  a  little." 

"  Seigneur !  "  she  cried,  "  you  speak  my  language  ! 
Ah !  it  is  well ;  very  well.  Oh,  what  happiness  !  I  will 
speak  to  you  very  slowly  in  my  own  tongue." 

The  clean  old  face,  with  its  complexion  as  soft  as  a 
child's,  was  flushed  with  a  bright  color ;  and  her  plump, 
shapely  hands  were  raised  in  astonishment  and  delight. 

"  Ah,  chore  Mademoiselle  !  "  she  exclaimed,  beginning 
slowly,  but  falling  quickly  into  a  rapidity  of  utterance 
which  bewildered  Hester  ;  "it  is  these  six  months  that  I 
have  been  here,  and  I  have  never  heard  a  word  of  my  own 
language  except  from  my  son  ;  never,  never  !  Ah  !  but  it 
is  triste ;  but  when  I  feel  ennui,  I  sing  a  little  song  to 
myself,  or  I  say  a  litde  prayer  to  one  of  the  dear  little 
saints,  and  it  is  past,  quite  past,  I  assure  you.  My  son 
is  very  good  to  me,  and  he  earns  a  great  deal  of  money 
in  the  servnce  of  Monsieur,  your  father:  twenty  francs 
a  week,  and  sometimes  twenty-five." 

"Do  you  like  England?"  inquired  Hester,  who  felt 
her  conversational  powers  limited,  and  was  glad  to  ask 
any  question  which  could  show  an  interest  in  the  foreigner. 

"  Bah  !  "  answ'ered  Madame  with  a  grimace,  "  I  was  too 
old  to  leave  my  country  for  another.  I  never  thought  of 
quitting  France,  though  I  married  myself  to  an  English- 
man. I  would  not  come  with  him  when  he  left  Paris  ; 
but  when  my  daughter  was  dead,  I  came  to  finish  my  life 
with  my  son,  or  take    him    back    with    me   to   Burgundy, 


128  HESTER   MORr,EY'S   PROMISE. 

where  the  sun  sliines  and  the  grapes  ripen.  Here  the  sun 
never  shines,  but  it  peeps  out  sometimes  in  the  summer. 
My  son  has  put  that  glass  in  to  catch  the  sunshine  for  me ; 
:ind  when  we  are  rich  we  are  going  home  to  Burgundy." 

Lawson  shook  his  head  furtively,  as  if  saying,  "No." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  whose  quick  eyes 
caught  her  son's  by-play.  "  I  say,  yes.  I  will  not  die 
out  of  Burgundy.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  shut  up  here, 
but  for  that." 

"  But  why  do  you  shut  yourself  up  }  "  asked  Hester. 

"Why  go  out?"  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders; 
"no  sun,  no  warmth,  no  friends,  no  gayety.  The  bad 
children  laughing  at  me !  All  the  world  strange,  and 
nobody  to  speak  a  word  to  me.  No,  no ;  I  can  sing  to 
myself  here,  and  be  as  gay  as  I  please  all  day  long. 
Shall  I  sing  a  little  song  to  you,  my  dear?" 

She  settled  herself  upon  her  chair,  so  as  to  give  her 
liands  free  scope  to  accompany  her  song,  with  appropriate 
gestures.  A  hundred  little  wrinkles  as  fine  as  thread, 
puckered  about  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  and  her  tongue  so 
thrilled  and  quavered  and  shook  between  her  almost 
toothless  gums,  that  Hester  watched  its  rapid  movement 
with  amazement.  When  her  song  was  ended,  she  clapped 
her  own  hands  in  applause,  and  hugged  herself  with  her 
old  arms,  while  she  laughed  and  nodded  merrily. 

Madame  Lawson  presented  so  strange  a  contrast  to 
her  son  that  Hester  was  almost  lost  in  wonder.  Lavi^son 
had  partially  recovered  himself,  and  was  looking  towards 
her  with  an  expression  which  plainly  enough  asked  the 
meaning  of  her  unexpected  visit.  She  was  glad  to  regain 
the  free  use  of  her  own  tongue,  and  she  spoke  in  her  turn 
with  a  volubility  and  fluency  to  which  the  Frenchwoman 
listened  with  marks  of  lively  astonishment  and  admiration. 

"  Lawson,"  she  said,  "  have  you  heard  nothing  of  what 


lawson's  attic.  129 

happened  to  us  two  nights  ago  ?  Do  you  know  tliat  some 
stranger,  a  man,  was  found  almost  dead  at  our  very  door  'i 
Have  you  heard  nothing  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  still  apathetic  from  the  use  of  the 
drug  he  had  taken  ;  "  what  became  of  him  ? " 

"  Another  stranger  who  was  passing  by  found  him  on 
the  pavement,  and  brought  him  into  our  house.  My  father 
and  I  did  all  we  could  to  help,  and  we  carried  him  up- 
stairs to  my  room.  The  other  stranger — I  know  his  name 
now,  Mr.  Grant — is  a  surgeon,  and  knew  exactly  what  to 
do,  and  he  is  staying  with  him  still.  Isn't  it  very  strange, 
Lawson  ?  " 

Lawson's  ej'es  regained  more  brightness  as  Hester 
spoke,  and  he  appeared  to  shake  off  a  little  of  his  lethargy 
as  he  tried  to  ponder  over  the  news. 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  is?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Hester,  "  he  is  quite  a  stranger  to  us  ;  a 
man  with  a  thick  brown  beard  and  nuistache  ;  he  looks  a 
little  like  a  foreigner.  My  father  knows  nothing  of  him  ; 
how  should  he  ?  " 

"  How  often  has  he  seen  him  ?  "  inquired  Lawson,  in 
a  sharp,  quick  tone  of  interest. 

"  Only  when  he  was  carried  in  almost  dead,"  she 
replied;  "neither  of  us  have  seen  him  since.  Mr.  Grant 
does  everything  for  him.  But,  O  Lawson  !  it  was  a  dread- 
ful sight.  I  should  have  thought  such  a  thing  could  never 
have  happened  in  our  town.  He  was  nearly,  very  nearly, 
killed  by  some  murderer." 

Hester  stopped,  shuddering  at  the  recollection,  and 
Lawson  did  not  speak  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  The  master  was  at  home  when  it  happened  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  He  had  come   in  only   r\  few   minutes  before,"  said 
Hester  ;  "  he  says   he   did  not   see   anybody  lying  or    the 
0* 


130  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

pavement  then ;  but  he  would  never  see  anything, — my 
poor  father  !  Besides,  it  might  have  been  done  after  he 
was  in  the  house ;  nobody  knows.  And,  Lawson,  what 
do  you  think  ?  he  is  not  going  to  let  the  police  know  any- 
thing about  it." 

"Not  let  the  police  know  !  "  echoed  Lawson. 

"  No  ;  Mr.  Grant  says  he  knows  who  struck  him,  and 
he  wishes  to  screen  him,  and  keep  it  all  a  secret." 

"  He  is  getting  over  it,  then,"  said  Lawson. 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Grant  says  he  will  be  able  to  get  up  in  a 
lew  days.  I  shall  see  him  then,  and  try  if  he  will  not  tell 
me  more  about  it.  I  am  very  curious,  and  I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  curious  before." 

Hester  shook  her  head  sagely,  and  laughed  a  little  at 
her  own  unusual  state  of  mind  ;  but  Lawson  remained 
plunged  in  thought  for  some  time.  At  last  he  looked  up 
into  her  face  with  an  air  of  deep  anxiety. 

"  Miss  Hester,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  try  to  find  out 
anything.  There's  many  a  thing  had  better  remain  a 
secret  to  you  all  your  life.  I  should  like  to  know  who 
this  man  is ;  but  don't  you  go  asking  him,  or  Mr.  Grant 
either.     Leave  well  alone,  Miss  Hester." 

She  was  neither  inclined  nor  prepared  to  obey  him  ; 
but  she  did  not  provoke  any  further  remonstrance  by  put- 
ting her  dissent  into  words.  In  her  solitary  and  self- 
directed  life,  Hester  had  learned  to  choose  her  own  path 
without  looking  to  any  authority.  She  rose  to  take  her 
leave,  promising  the  old  woman  to  come  again  soon  to  see 
her,  and  submitting  with  a  rare  and  sweet  smile  to  being 
kissed  by  her  upon  both  cheeks,  though  her  color  came 
and  her  face  burned.  It  was  so  many  years  since  any 
lifjs  had  touched  her  cheek,  and  then  it  had  been  Rose 
who  had  kissed  her.  Lawson  preceded  her  down  the 
winding  staircase,  and  up  the  narrow  entry  into  the  street. 


lawson's  attic.  131 

"I  shall  be  back  at  work  in  the  morning,  Miss  Hester," 
he  said ;  "and  I  should  very  much  like  to  set  eyes  on  tnis 
gentleman." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  BUDGET  OF   NEWS. 

"Little  Aston,  Feb.  21.  186 — . 
"  Dear  Carl, — '  Where  is  Little  Aston  ?  and  what- 
ever is  Grant  doing  there  ? '  you  are  asking  at  this  moment. 
Little  Aston  is  a  very  small  town,  noticeable  chiefly  as  a 
junction  on  the  Midland  Counties  Railway,  the  town 
being  nearly  a  mile  from  the  station.  Grant  is  being 
head-doctor,  nurse,  and  general  valet  de  chamhre  for  a 
stranger  who  narrowly  escaped  assassination  in  the  streets 
of  the  same  small  town  three  night  ago.  I  must  explain 
to  you  how  it  all  came  about.  You  are  aware  that  it  is 
my  usual  luck  to  miss  my  train  at  a  junction  ;  and  this 
luck  threw  me,  at  nine  o'clock  last  Wednesday  night,  upon 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  good  innkeepers  of  Little  Aston. 
As  I  am  not  rich,  I  sought  a  more  humble  tavern  than  the 
great  hotel  in  the  square,  and  I  turned  up  a  narrow,  old- 
fashioned,  dimly-lighted  street  in  search  of  one.  Here  I 
stumbled  against  a  man  lying  across  the  pavement,  who, 
on  examination  proved  to  be  not  drunk,  but"  half  dead. 
There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  in  the  street.  I  have 
learned  since  that  every  other  night  the  police  are  sent 
put  of  the  town  into  the  country  in  pursuit  of  poachers  ; 
^n  ^dnjirf^ble  arrangement !  I  knocked  with  all  my  might 
at  the  nearest  door,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  opened,  I  car- 
pied  in  my  man,  and  ejtamined  the  extent  of  the  mischief 
done.     He  had  been  wounded  within  an  inch  of  his  life. 


A    BUDGET    OF   NEWS.  133 

As  he  had  neither  blood  nor  time  to  lose,  I  demanded  a 
room  and  a  bed,  which  were  immediately  put  at  my  dispo- 
sal ;  and  here  I  ha\e  been  ever  since. 

"  The  whole  aftair  is  queer,  excessively  queer.  The 
gentleman, — he  is  a  gentleman,  there  is  no  mistake  about 
that ;  dress,  jewellery,  etc.,  are  first-class,  and  his  voice 
and  language  those  of  a  well-born  man, — as  soon  as  he 
recovered  a  little  consciousness,  begged  me  to  keep  this 
assault  upon  him  a  secret,  and  to  remain  with  him  until  he 
can  go  away  in  order  to  avoid  calling  in  a  doctor  and 
nurse.  I  have  not  any  very  particular  business  demand- 
ing me  in  any  other  part  of  the  world,  so  I  agreed  to  stay 
and  bring  him  through  it  alone  if  there  were  no  access  of 
danger.  I  was  anxious  for  the  first  f«rty-eight  hours,  but 
my  anxiety  is  over  now  He  will  do,  and  in  another  few 
days  he  and  I  may  go  on  our  s«f  arate  ways  ;  though  I 
rather  expect  the  '  Good  Samaritwi'  will  get  a  handsome 
fee  for  his  time  and  trouble  upon  this  occasion. 

"The  household  subjected  to  this  unpleasant  invasion 
is  as  interesting  as  my  patient.  It  consists  of  a  father  and 
daughter,  with  one  very  ordinary  maid-of-all-work.  I  wish 
you  could  see  them,  Carl.  Don't  let  Annie  read  this  let- 
ter. The  girl — her  name  is  Hester — is  different  from  any 
young  creature  I  have  ever  seen.  She  produces  upon  me 
the  impression  of  having  always  lived  in  moonlight,  and 
having  never  seen  the  sun.  She  reminds  me  of  primroses 
with  the  scent  of  spring  in  them,  but  which  one  knows  will 
die  before  the  summer  sun  comes.  Or  she  is  like  her 
namesake.  Queen  Esther,  stately,  austere,  and  beautiful 
but  with  the  pallor  of  famine  in  her  cheeks  as  she  stands 
meekly  in  the  outer  court  before  the  king  has  stretched 
out  his  royal  sceptre  to  her.  See  how  poetical  I  grow  ? 
But  this  girl  has  been  starving  all  her  life.  There  has 
been  a  famine  of  sunshine  and  laughter,  and  music ;  and 


134  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

she  has  grown  up  sad  and  pale.  I  should  like  to  see  her 
brought  out  into  the  full  light;  but  I  do  not  know  how  she 
could  bear  it. 

"  The  father  is  a  man  bordering  upon  fifty,  but  he  looks 
sixty,  for  his  hair  is  snow-white,  and  his  face  seamed  with 
lines.  It  is  a  gray  mask,  a  dull,  unnatural  gray;  but  it 
lights  up  at  times  as  from  some  smouldering  flame  behind 
it,  and  you  see  intense  light  and  heat  in  his  eyes.  Do  you 
remember  that  story  we  read  when  boys  of  the  Hall  of  Eblis, 
where  each  tortured  ghost  walks  solitarily,  with  his  hand 
pressed  upon  his  breast,  and  whenever  the  hand  is  raised, 
one  can  see  a  heart  of  fire  beneath  ?  I  have  thought  once 
or  twice,  when  I  have  come  unexpectedly  upon  this  man, 
that  he  was  nbout  to  show  me  his  heart  on  fire.  He 
would  perhaps  do  it  to  you,  Carl  ;  but  you  will  never  come 
across  him.  He  is  a  bookseller  ;  but  reads  more  books 
than  he  sells.  It  is  evident  that  money  is  scarce  here. 
But  who  knows?  perhaps  this  stranger,  who  tells  me  he  is 
a  rich  man,  will  lift  them  out  of  their  poverty.  Perhaps 
he  will  fall  in  love  with  Hester.  If  I  were  he,  and  if  I 
had  never  seen  thy  sister,  Carl,  I  would  woo  this  girl,  and 
take  her  out  into  the  fullest,  brightest  sunshine  of  fortune. 
She  shall  see  him  soon,  and  help  me  to  nurse  him  ;  and 
— who  can  tell .'' 

"  I  had  written  so  far  when  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  another  member  of  this  strange  household.  I  was 
building  a  castle  for  my  hero  in  bed  here  and  my  pale 
young  heroine  downstairs,  when  I  heard  the  door  very 
warily  turned  upon  its  hinges,  and  a  new  face  peered 
round  it.  My  patient  had  fallen  asleep,  and  I  beckoned 
angrily  to  the  intruder  to  go  away.  Instead  of  doing  so 
he  entered  on  tiptoe,  with  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  ad- 
vanced into  the  middle  of  the  room,  steadfastly  regarding 
the  face  of  the  sleeper.     It  was  a  small,  shrunken  man, 


A   BUDGET   OF   NEWS.  I35 

wearing  a  linen  apron  and  a  brown  paper  cap.  He 
glanced  at  me  deprecatingly,  but  persisted  in  disregarding 
my  gestures  until  I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to 
the  door.  He  submitted  meekly  enough  ;  and  as  soon  as 
we  were  in  the  passage  outside,  I  whispered  in  a  passion 
(forgive  me,  Reverend  Carl,)  What  the  devil  brought  you 
in  there  ? 

"'Do  you  know  who  he  is?'  he  asked,  in  a  whisper 
also,  but  in  a  tone  of  horror  which  aroused  my  curiosity. 

"'No,'  I  said;  'not  the  gentleman  I  have  just  men- 
tioned ? ' 

"'As  bad!'  he  answered,  with  the  same  mysterious 
horror  in  his  voice. 

" '  No  ! '  I  exclaimed. 

" '  He  ought  not  to  be  in  this  house,'  he  continued,  ener- 
getically ;  '  not  in  the  same  house  as  the  master  and  Miss 
Hester,  of  all  places  in  the  world.  He  ought  never  to  have 
been  brought  in  here,  and  he  must  be  taken  away  at  once, 
or  worse  will  come  of  it.     Everybody  would  say  the  same.' 

" '  Tell  me  why,'  I  said. 

"  '  Who  are  you  .'' '  he  asked. 

"'A  stranger;  my  name  is  James  Grant,  and  I  am  a 
surgeon  by  profession.' 

"  He  looked  at  me  searchingly — it  was  like  being 
scrutinized  by  a  sparrow — and  nodded.  '  Come  to  my 
room,'  he  said. 

"  My  patient  was  sleeping  quietly,  and  would  probably 
sleep  for  an  hour.  I  followed  the  little  man  through  three 
or  four  black-looking  rooms  which  had  formerly  served  as 
printing-offices,  for  there  were  some  old  presses  still  left, 
till  we  reached  a  large  and  light  garret.  Upon  some 
shelves  there  were  specimens  of  bookbinding  which  would 
have  charmed  your  heart,  and  all  other  biblio-maniacs ; 
but  my   new  friend   did   not  draw  my  attention  to  these. 


136  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

He  gave  me  his  stool  to  sit  upon,  and  placed  himself  upon 
a  heap  of  books.  There  was  a  chair  in  the  window,  but 
he  did  not  offer  it  to  me. 

•'Then,  Carl,  he  unfolded  to  me  a  story.  The  man, 
whom  I  found  well-nigh  murdered,  is  the  only  son  of  that 
David  Waldron  who  is  one  of  your  greatest  men,  and  a 
trustee  of  your  college.  Ten  years  ago,  he,  the  son,  ran 
away  with  the  young  wife  of  the  man  whose  home  he  is 
now  in,  and  the  husband  has  never  since  lifted  up  his 
head  or  let  a  smile  dawn  upon  his  face.  He  is  here, 
sheltered  by  the  roof  he  has  dishonored  ;  owing  his  life  to 
the  prompt  humanity  of  the  household  he  has  wronged. 

'•  My  mind  stopped  there  suddenly.  Who,  then,  was 
the  enemy  that  struck  the  blow — the  deadly  blow  which 
nearly  killed  the  man  whom  John  Morley  must  needs 
hate  ?  It  seems  that  young  Waldron  only  returned  to  his 
father's  house  a  few  months  ago,  on  condition  that  he 
never  set  foot  in  the  street  where  John  Morley  lives. 
What  then  brought  him  where  I  found  him,  at  their  very 
door  ?  Whose  hand  but  John  Morley's  own  could  have 
been  lifted  against  him } 

" '  He  must  be  taken  away,'  said  the  little  man,  tremb- 
ling with  excitement;  'you  must  get  him  away  at  once. 
Suppose  the  master  should  see  him  again,  and  know  him  ! 
or  Miss  Hester! '  Just  then  we  heard  the  rustle  of  a  dress 
on  the  staircase,  and  a  step  so  light  that  we  could  hardly 
hear  it.  The  workman  rose  hurriedly  and  placed  a  gor- 
geous book  in  my  hand.  It  was  a  marvel  of  curious  bind 
ing,  with  gilding  as  fine  as  gossamer  and  as  rich  as  lace. 

*' '  Yes,'  he  said,  as  Hester  glided  softly  into  the  attic, 
'it  is  very  costl}-.  Ah,  Miss  Hester!  this  gentleman  is 
looking  at  some  of  my  old  work.  But  I  can't  do  anything 
like  this  now,  sir.  My  hand  is  not  steady,  and  my  eye- 
sight is  growing  dull.' 


A  BUDGET   OF  NEWS.  1 37 

" '  I  am  learning  this  work  myself,'  she  said  to  me, 
with  a  faint  smile  ;  '  but  are  you  able  to  leave  your  charge  ? 
Is  he  so  much  better? ' 

•' '  He  is  going  on  well,'  I  answered  ;  '  so  well  that  he 
will  soon  be  able  to  tell  us  something  about  himself 
Your  father  and  you  must  wish  to  know  who  he  is  ? 

"The  workman  looked  at  me  over  her  shoulder  with 
an  air  of  warning  and  entreaty. 

"  '  I  wish  to  know,'  she  said,  '  and  so  does  Lawson 
here  ;  but  my  father  cares  very  little  about  anything.  He 
inquires  after  him,  as  you  know,  every  day,  and  that  is  all.' 

"I  understood  perfectly  this  absence  of  curiosity  in 
John  Morley. 

"'Do  you  know  who  he  is  yet? '  she  inquired. 

" '  He  has  not  been  well  enough  for  me  to  ask  him  any 
questions,'  I  answered,  'and  he  is  quite  a  stranger  to  me. 
But  I  will  ask  him  soon.  He  ought  to  communicate  with 
his  friends.' 

" '  It  would  be  well,'  she  replied,  with  that  dignity 
which  reminds  me  of  Queen  Esther,  and  then  she  unfolded 
a  large  apron  and  sleeves,  and  attired  herself  in  them  for 
her  singular  occupation.  I  remained  a  few  minutes  watch- 
ing her.  I  took  up  mechanically  a  short  but  heavy  iron 
bar,  technically  called  a  pin,  with  which  the  binder  screws 
and  unscrews  his  press.  It  crossed  my  mind  that  such  as 
this  might  easily  be  the  blunt  instrument  with  which 
Waldron  had  been  struck.  I  threw  it  down  hastily  and 
returned  to  my  patient. 

"He  was  lying  awake,  and  looking  more  collected 
than  he  had  done  since  his  accident.  His  eyes  were  clear, 
his  pulse  steady,  and  his  face,  though  colorless,  perfectly 
calm.  As  well  as  he  could,  he  was  promenading  his 
regards,  as  the  French  say,  about  the  room.  It  is  a 
pleasant,    simply-furnished    chamber,   with    no   ornament 


I3S  HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

except  the  splendidly-bound  volumes  I  have  already  men- 
tioned. He  was  in  a  mood  for  talk ;  and  I  told  him  at 
some  length  who  I  am,  and  how  I  came  to  be  at  Little 
Aston  in  the  right  nick  of  time  for  him. 

*"Do  you  see  much  of  the  people  of  the  hdluse?'  he 
inquired. 

"  '  Not  much,'  I  answered ;  '  they  are  poor,  and  we 
give  no  little  trouble  in  the  house.  They  keep  only  one 
servant,  and  Hester  has  to  work  hard  herself;  especially 
since  we  two  have  been  here.' 

" '  Hester ! '  he  repeated,  in  a  low  tone  ;  *  is  she  a  litde 
girl,  demure,  but  merry  at  times  ?  I  fancy  I  know  some- 
thing of  her  and  her  father.  Have  they  seen  me,  either 
of  them  ? ' 

"Yes,'  I  said,  'they  have  both  seen  you,  and  say  you 
are  a  stranger  to  them.  But  Hester  is  not  merry.  Merry ! 
she  has  not  laughed  these  ten  years,  I  should  judge.' 

"  He  winced,  and  turned  his  head  away  uneasily. 

"  'I  want  to  see  her,'  he  said,  fretfully,  and  as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself  'I  must  tell  little  Hetty  who  I  am.  I 
could  tell  it  to  her;  some  good  might  come  of  it.  Be- 
sides, I  must  see  her  ;  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else 
since  I  knew  where  I  was.  I  must  and  will  speak  to 
Hester.' 

"  He  did  not  talk  any  more,  but  fell  into  a  restless 
sleep,  muttering  to  himself  that  he  must  see  Hester.  1 
am  watching  beside  him  now.  The  night  is  come  on,  and 
the  house  is  as  silent  as  a  grave.  I  long  to  stamp  heavily 
down  the  stairs,  slam  the  doors,  and  whistle  loudly  ;  but 
the  instant  I  set  my  foot  out  of  this  room  the  gloom  con 
quers  me.  I  tread  on  tiptoe,  and  close  the  doors  as 
[quietly  as  if  some  one  lay  a-dying  somewhere.  It  has  been 
a  long  dying  here,  Carl, — a  lingering  death  of  ten  years , 
and  it  is  a  man's  heart  that  has  been  slowly  breaking.     It 


A   BUDGET   OF   NEWS.  1 39 

would  have  been   more  merciful  to  have  killed  him   at 
once.     I  pity  greatly  John  Morley. 

"  Good-bye,  old  fellow.  Write  me  a  sermon  for  my 
romance.  We  ought  to  go  through  life  together,  you  and 
Ij — to  you  the  souls,  to  me  the  bodies.  Together  we 
might  heal  many  sicknesses. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HIS   ONLY   ENEMY. 

WHILE  Robert  Waldron  had  been  lying  in  a  state 
of  stupefaction  bordering  upon  delirium,  he  had 
possessed  a  dull  but  constant  realization  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  in  John  Morley's  house.  There  was,  it  is  strange 
to  say,  a  species  of  satisfaction  to  him  in  this.  The 
place  which  he  had  been  forbidden  to  approach  had 
become  a  shelter  to  him,  and  had  received  him  into  its 
most  intimate  recesses.  He  could  hear,  night  and  morn- 
ing, John  Morley's  footsteps  upon  the  stairs ;  and  he  lis- 
tened with  a  thrill  of  interest  and  a  momentary  triumph 
that  he  could  hear  it.  The  soft  sweet  voice  at  his  door 
was  the  voice  of  the  little  Hester  whom  he  had  loved 
with  the  delicate  and  chivalrous  fondness  which  young 
men  sometimes  feel  for  children  just  entering  upon  girl- 
hood. There  was  a  vague,  weak  gratification  in  knowing 
that  he  was  with  them, — in  the  house  where  he  had  come 
and  gone  as  a  familiar  friend  in  the  days  long  gone  by.  In 
his  stupor,  he  was  not  sure  that  that  time  was  quite  past,  or 
that  Rose  herself  might  not  come  to  his  side  and  lay  her 
cool  hands  upon  his  burning  head.  The  past  and  present 
mingled  curiously  in  his  mind  ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  his 
feeling  was  one  of  contentment  in  being  where  he  was. 

But  when  that  lethargy  was  ended,  his  memories  and 
fears  awoke  strongly  within  him.  It  was  impossible  to 
drive  away  the   suspicion,  soon   ripening  into  conviction, 


HIS    ONLY    ENEMY.  I4I 

that  it  was  John  Morley's  own  hand  which  had  so  nearly 
deprived  him  of  life.  He  had  no  other  enemy  ;  iheie  was 
no  other  fellow-creature  to  whom  he  owed  such  a  debt, 
which  only  revenge  could  pay.  He  did  not  blame  his 
assailant :  he  rather  owned  that  it  was  no  more  than  ho 
deserved.  But  if  this  were  true,  then  John  Morley  knew 
him  to  be  lying  helpless,  and  within  his  power.  He  was 
in  the  hands  of  a  deadly  and  stealthy  foe,  with  no  protec- 
tor but  this  stranger  who  had  chanced  to  find  him  bleed- 
ing to  death  in  the  street.  He  began  to  be  suspicious  of 
the  succor  given  to  him.  What  could  it  all  mean  .?  Was 
it  an  artifice  to  avert  suspicion  ?  Or  did  John  Morley 
wish  to  keep  him  yet  within  reach  of  a  subtle  vengeance  ? 
The  more  he  pondered  over  his  position,  the  more  bewil- 
dered and  disquieted  he  became. 

In  his  perplexity,  he  at  last  came  to  the  resolution  to 
see  Hester,  and  trust  himself  to  her ;  and  for  that  reason 
he  endeavored  to  gain  and  presence  the  calm  which  Grant 
assured  him  was  essential  to  his  speedy  recovery.  There 
were  three  wills  at  work  in  the  house :  Robert  Waldron 
had  resolved  to  see  Hester,  and  speak  with  her;  Grant 
was  decided  that  it  would  be  best  and  wisest  to  get  him 
away  from  the  place  without  letting  her  know  who  had 
been  their  guest ;  while  Hester  herself,  in  the  newly- 
awakened  stimulus  of  curiosity,  was  bent  upon  discovering 
all  she  could  concerning  their  strange  inmate. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  Grant  announced  to  Rob- 
ert Waldron  that  he  was  well  enough  to  spend  an  hour  or 
two  in  another  apartment.  He  shuddered  at  the  idea  of 
entering  once  again  the  room  where  he  had  spent  so  many 
hours  with  Rose.  But  Grant  was  not  the  man  to  whom  he 
could  confide  his  story  with  its  episode  of  gm'lt.  And  had 
he  not  longed  to  see  the  place  again  ?  Had  he  not  thought 
might  be  part  of  the  penance  wOiich,  in  some  measure,  by 


142  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

its  sharp  pang,  would  atone  for  his  sin  ?  He  strung  up 
his  nerves,  bade  his  heart  be  strong,  and  leaning  tremb- 
lingly upon  Grant's  shoulder,  left  the  chamber  where  he 
had  been  lying,  half  unconscious,  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave. 

The  room  to  which  he  was  conducted  was  scarcely 
larger  than  a  closet,  and  contained  only  a  very  small  table 
and  two  chairs :  one  of  them  the  large  antique  chair,  with 
high  back  and  sides,  which  had  been  bought  years  ago  for 
Hester's  mother,  and  which  had  never  since  been  moved 
from  its  station  on  John  ^Morley's  hearth.  He  sank  into 
it  exhausted.  It  was  not  until  Grant  had  left  him,  asleep 
as  he  supposed,  that  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  gazed 
about  him  anxiously.  His  seat  was  set  opposite  to  a 
small  window,  the  view  from  which  was  dismal :  an  outer 
staircase,  black  with  smoke  and  rot,  leading  up  to  a  dis- 
colored door,  about  which  clustered  some  dingy  ivy-leaves. 
This  closed  door,  and  the  mournful  leafage  about  it, 
fascinated  him.  It  seemed  to  fill  the  little  casement;  for 
without  going  closer  to  it,  nothing  could  be  seen  but  this 
one  gable  with  its  blackened  and  worn-out  steps  leading 
to  it.  He  could  see,  by  the  rust  upon  the  handle  and  by 
the  overgrowth  of  sickly  tendrils  stretching  across  the 
doorway,  that  it  w-as  a  place  fallen  into  disuse — a  mere 
lumber-room  shut  up  for  long  months  together,  and  left  to 
the  dust  and  mildew  ;  yet  none  the  less  did  his  mind, 
weakened  and  dizzy,  imagine  that  there  lurked  in  it  some 
scene  which  it  w^as  necessary  for  him  to  see,  and  which 
would  all  lie  before  him,  plain  and  intelligible  and  full  of 
interest,  if  only  the  rotten  panels  of  the  door  would  give 
way.  Somewhere  outside  the  sun  was  shining,  and  in  the 
grate  a  cheerful  fire  was  crackling ;  but  in  spite  of  the 
light  and  warmth,  he  shivered  as  one  shivers  sometimes 
at  a  ghasdy  thought  in   the  depth   of  a   winter's   night. 


HIS   ONLY    ENEMY.  I43 

Day  and  night  John  Morley's  house  was  a  haunted  house 
for  him. 

Robert  Waldron  started  with  nervous  and  guilty  dread 
as  the  latch  of  the  door  clicked  softly  before  it  was  pushed 
quietly  open.  He  turned  his  eyes,  large  and  sunken  with 
his  illness,  upon  the  doorway,  wondering  who  might  be 
about  to  enter  ;  for  it  was  never  with  this  slow  caution 
that  Grant  came  in.  A  girl's  face  looked  in  for  a  moment 
before  advancing:  a  fair,  grave  face  with  a  color  upon  it, 
soft  and  clear  and  delicate,  and  a  light  in  the  large  gray 
eyes,  like  the  shining  of  the  spring  sun  behind  a  thin  veil 
of  mist.  This  surely  could  not  be  Hester,  the  little  child 
whom  he  had  been  wont  to  nurse  upon  his  knee,  and  to 
whom  he  had  read  fairy  stories.  Yet  it  could  be  no  one 
else.  He  felt  the  sudden  sting  of  hot  tears  under  his 
eyelids.  It  was  Hester — little  Hetty — whose  whole  life 
he  had  clouded  and  saddened.  He  attempted  to  rise 
from  his  chair,  but  he  found  himself  powerless  and  speech- 
less. It  was  with  an  almost  superhuman  effort  that  he 
restrained  himself  from  breaking  out  into  loud  and  bitter 
weeping. 

"  I  am  Hester  Morley,"  she  said,  advancing  towards 
him,  and  speaking  in  a  low  and  measured  voice,  which 
was  somewhat  monotonious  in  its  accents,  yet  all  the  more 
soothing  to  him.  "  Mr.  Grant  told  me  you  were  going  to 
sit  here  for  an  hour  or  two.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? 
Shall  I  fetch  you  anything  ? " 

"  Stay  with  me  a  little  while,"  he  answered,  stammer- 
ing and  hesitating;  "I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"Do  you  feel  strong  enough  yet.'"  she  asked,  looking 
at  him  with  an  expression  of  grave  anxiety.  "  Mr.  Grant 
does  not  know  I  am  come,  or  he  would  not  let  me  be  here  ; 
but  I  wished  to  tell  you  that  you  are  among  friends,  and 
you   need  not   hurry  yourself  to  go  away.     W'q  are  your 


144  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

friends  though  we  are  strangers  to  each  other  yet.  It  would 
not  be  possible  to  watch  over  any  one  and  think  about 
them  night  and  day,  and  pray  to  God  for  their  recovery, 
without  feeling  that  they  are  friends.  I  want  you  to  feel 
this  too. 

The  words  were  spoken  softly,  with  that  faint  languor 
of  a  voice  which  had  never  been  quickened  by  either 
mirth  or  passion :  but  they  smote  upon  Robert  Waldron 
with  the  keenest  tone  of  reproach.  He  looked  up  speech- 
lessly into  her  face ;  and  her  clear  eyes,  from  whose  grave 
scrutiny  he  shrank,  looked  down  pitifully  upon  his  agita- 
tion. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  I  must  leave  you  if  you  will  excite 
yourself.  I  told  you  Mr.  Grant  does  not  know  I  am  at 
home,  and  I  think  he  would  be  displeased  if  he  found  me 
here.  So  you  must  be  calm,  and  prove  that  I  do  you 
good  and  not  harm,  then  he  will  let  me  come  again.  My 
father  is  John  Morley,  the  bookseller;  do  you  know  us? 
He  thinks  of  coming  to  see  you  this  evening;  do  you 
know  him  at  all  ?  " 

"I  used  to  know  him  a  little,"  answered  Roben 
Waldron. 

"Every  one  knows  my  father,"  said  Hester,  with  a  sad 
smile;  "so  you  see  you  are  not  among  strangers,  and  you 
may  feel  quite  at  home  in  our  house.  I  do  not  know 
many  people,  for  I  have  never  been  out  of  Little  Aston, 
and  it  is  no  w'onder  that  you  are  a  stranger  to  me  ;  yet  I 
do  not  feel  as  if  you  were  really  a  stranger.  I  suppose  it 
is  because  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  die  here  ;  and 
nobody  has  died  in  this  house  since  my  mother,  nearly 
nineteen  years  ago," 

She  stood  within  reach  of  his  hand  if  he  had  dared  to 
touch  her  with  it,  a  subdued  and  quiet  girl,  as  if  she  had 
grown  up  in   the   shadow  of  her  mother's  death ;  but  he 


HIS   ONLY   ENEMY.  1 45 

knew  well  that  was  not  the  chill  and  the  darkness  which 
had  fallen  upon  her  life. 

"  Your  father  married  a  second  time,"  he  said,  almost 
in  spite  of  himself,  and  shuddering  at  the  answer  he  had 
invoked. 

"  You  know  it,"  she  said,  "if  you  know  my  father." 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  he  answered,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  "  these  ten  years." 

"  You  would  not  know  him  again  then,"  said  Hester, 
mournfully;  "he  is  an  old  man  now,  broken  down  and 
infirm ;  are  you  sure  you  never  heard  of  our  trouble  ? 
Everybody  knew  it." 

He  did  not  answer;  but  Hester,  in  the  dead  silence 
which  followed,  could  hear  the  heavy  throbbing  of  his 
heart.  She  was  about  to  call  Grant,  when  he  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  her. 

"lam  very  ill,"  he  muttered;  "hold  my  hand  in 
yours  for  a  moment." 

Hester  took  it  between  both  her  own  and  held  it  in  a 
firm  warm  clasp,  waiting  for  this  paroxysm  of  weakness  to 
pass  before  she  hastened  away.  The  tears  which  had 
been  burning  under  his  eyelids  fell  in  torrents  ;  and  at 
length  Robert  Waldron  bent  dovi^n  his  fevered  head,  and 
rested  it  upon  her  hand. 

"Don't  you  know   who  I  am,  Hester?"  he  murmured. 

A  slight  shiver  ran  through  Hester's  frame.  There 
was  something  in  his  tone  now  which  startled  her  memory, 
and  she  tried  to  free  her  hands  from  those  which  held 
them  ;  but  he  was  grasping  them  too  tightly  for  her  to 
disengage  herself. 

"  Hetty !  "  he  cried,  and  no  one"  had  ever  called  her  by 
that  name  since  Rose  had  fled;  "little  Hetty,  have  pity 
upon  me ;  I  am  very  wretched  !  " 

The  first  passionate  moment  in  Hester's  life  had  come. 
7 


146  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

She  thrust  back  the  bruised  head,  and  wrested  herself 
from  the  grasp  which  held  her,  falling  back  from  him  as 
one  who  was  an  abhorrence  to  her.  He  had  been  the 
curse  of  her  flither's  house;  and  through  the  long  solitary 
years  to  which  he  had  doomed  her,  his  sin  and  her  step- 
mother's had  haunted  her.  And  now  he  was  within  the 
very  recesses  of  their  home  again, — more  than  a  guest 
now, — an  inmate,  thought  of,  tended,  and  cared  for.  The 
pallor  had  passed  away  from  her  face  and  the  soft  lustre 
from  her  eyes  ;  and  when  she  spoke,  her  voice  had  the 
eager  and  vehement  ring  of  passion. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "is  it  possible  that  you  could  be 
near  dying,  and  yet  not  die,  in  this  house  .•*  Many  a  man 
would  have  died  here  of  grief  and  shame  alone.  How 
can  you  breathe  the  air  my  father  breathes  ?  How  can 
)'ou  eat  his  bread  and  not  be  choked  by  it  ?  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  any  man  can  be  so  mean  a  thing,  so  miserable  a 
thing?" 

"  Hester,"  moaned  Robert  Waldron,  "  I  am  the  most 
miserable  of  men  ! " 

He  lifted  up  to  her  his  wan  emaciated  face,  covered 
with  grief  and  remorse.  For  the  present  he  was  stripped 
of  all  the  self-sufficiency  and  pleasant  palliation  of  his  own 
faults,  which  in  easier  moments  characterized  Robert  Wal 
dron.  Hester  felt  herself  smitten  with  pity  and  compas- 
sion for  him.  If  he  had  repented  thus,  he  must  have  well- 
nigh  borne  the  full  penalty  of  his  crime  during  the  ten 
years  which  had  passed  so  painfully  over  her  father's 
head. 

"  My  father  must  never  know  whom  he  has  sheltered," 
she  said,  in  a  softer  voice;  "you  must  leave  us  as  soon 
as  you  can,  and  with  all  the  secrecy  possible.  No  one 
must  know  you  have  ever  been  in  this  house,  lest  it  should 
reach  his  ears.     I  believe  it  would  kill  him.     Rouse  your- 


HIS   ONLY   ENEMY.  I47 

self,  and  think  what  we  can  do  to  prevent  him  discover- 
ing it." 

"  Hester  !  "  he  cried,  "  say  something  pitiful  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I  pity  you  !  ''  she  answered  ;  "  I  pity  you  all, — 
her  and  you  and  my  father;  but  what  can  I  do?  There 
are  troubles  which  no  one  can  lighten.  They  say  that 
time  will  soften  every  sorrow ;  but  it  has  not  done  any- 
thing for  you,  or  my  father,  or  for  her." 

For  an  instant  Robert  remembered  how  dim  the  past 
had  grown  to  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  little  Hetty,"  he  said. 

*'  I  forgive  you,"  she  replied,  touchmg  with  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  his  hand  which  lay  upon  the  table ;  "  for  you 
did  not  know  what  you  were  doing.  Look  at  me  ;  how 
different  I  should  have  been  if  I  had  grown  up  by  the  side 
of  a  mother  who  loved  me.  You  cannot  see  my  father  or 
her  j  but  me  you  can  see,  so  different  from  what  I  might 
have  been  but  for  you." 

He  looked  at  her,  standing  before  him  with  her  pure 
young  face,  austere  and  grave,  yet  possessing  a  charm 
which  made  his  heart  throb  again  rapidly.  Looking  at 
her  did  not  bring  to  his  mind  the  evil  he  had  committed ; 
but  he  did  not  dare  to  put  into  words  any  of  the  thoughts 
which  thronged  his  brain,  and  he  kept  a  sombre  silence. 

"When  can  you  go  away?"  asked  Hester,  after  a 
pause. 

"Not  to-day,"  he  said,  imploringly;  "do  not  send  me 
away  to-day,  Hester." 

"  You  shall  stay,"  she  answered,  in  the  old  soft  languid 
voice,  "  until  you  can  go  safely.  But  my  father  must  not 
see  you.  Tell  Mr.  Grant  enough  to  let  him  know  why 
you  must  make  haste  to  go,  and  he  will  arrange  how  you 
can  be  removed,  so  that  no  one  may  find  out  that  you 
have  been  here." 


148  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

A  half-smile  crossed  his  face,  which  he  had  shaded 
with  his  hand  as  he  thought  how  well  John  Morley  knew 
who  he  was,  and  how  it  was  that  he  had  been  struggling 
against  death  these  last  few  days.  But  he  could  not 
breath  a  word  of  this  to  Hester ;  he  did  not  know  what  he 
dared  to  say  to  her  now  she  knew  him.  He  longed  to 
hear  her  voice  again,  and  to  lift  his  eyes  to  her  sweet 
though  reproving  face.  When  he  did  so  at  last,  feeling 
the  silence  too  painful,  he  found  himself  again  alone,  for 
Hester  had  stolen  away  noiselessly ;  and  his  heavy  and 
veary  eyes  fastened  once  more  upon  the  dismal  doorway 
opposite  to  him,  with  its  smoky  wreath  of  ivy. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A   PRESCRIPTION. 

HESTER  had  to  pay  her  price  for  the  gratification  of 
her  curiosity.  Grant  had,  as  he  supposed,  made 
sure  that  she  was  safely  out  of  the  way  before  he  had  left 
his  charge,  to  take  the  sleep  he  so  greatly  needed  ;  and 
she  had  availed  herself  of  his  absence  to  visit  the  stranger 
about  whom  her  mind  had  been  busy  with  a  thousand 
painful  conjectures.  It  had  been  a  romance  to  her,  but 
now  the  romance  had  suddenly  assumed  the  severe  and 
hard  aspect  of  a  reality.  That  which,  to  more  distant 
onlookers,  added  to  the  romance,  brought  it  for  her  into  the 
practical  region  of  an  unpleasant  fact.  Robert  Waldron, 
whose  name  was  never  uttered  in  her  father's  hearing,  was 
here,  separated  from  him  only  by  thin  walls  and  a  door 
whose  latch  could  be  lifted  with  a  touch.  Hester  believed 
in  the  implacable  resentment  of  her  father.  He  had  for- 
saken many  of  the  established  forms  of  religion,  had  with- 
drawn from  all  prominent  offices  in  the  Church,  had  even 
given  up  the  practice  of  assembling  his  little  household 
for  private  worship,  and  never  took  into  his  lips  the  name 
of  the  God  he  had  once  professed  to  serve.  These  were 
signs  of  such  tremendous  import  in  the  judgment  of  his 
minister,  and  of  Miss  Waldron  especially,  that  it  was  no 
wonder  Hester's  mind  was  troubled  by  them  ;  or  that  she 
attributed  them,  as  they  did  to  an  unrelenting  hatred  to 
those  who  had  destroyed  the  honor  and  happiness  of  his 


150  HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

existence.  Secretly,  though  troubled,  Hester  had  rather 
gloried  in  her  father's  implacability,  as  being  in  accord 
with  the  high-flown  romances  and  poems  with  which  her 
imagination  had  fed  itself.  But  of  late  she  had  longed  for 
some  ray  of  tender  light,  some  flash  of  possible  relenting, 
to  bieak  in  upon  the  gloom  of  his  spirit;  and  now  that 
Robert  Waldron  was  positively  in  their  dwelling,  she  was 
frightened.  What  would  her  father  feel  ?  What  would  he 
do  ?  Into  what  might  he  be  hurried  if  he  came  face  to 
face  with  their  unknown  guest,  and  found  in  him  the  man 
whom  he  hated,  his  enemy  and  betrayer?  She  went  slowly 
down-stairs,  deliberating  within  herself,  until  she  reached 
her  father's  sitting-room.  He  glanced  up  at  her  entrance 
with  a  gleam  of  light  upon  his  gray  face  which  was  his 
nearest  approach  to  a  smile,  for  neither  lips  nor  eyebrows 
were  unbended.  She  went  forward  with  an  involuntary 
movement,  as  if  she  would  take  his  white  head  into  her 
arms  and  kiss  the  furrowed  face  which  had  so  sorrowful  a 
storj'  graven  upon  it ;  but  caresses  were  rarelv  exchanged 
between  them,  and  Hester  checked  her  impulse.  The 
hearth  looked  empty  without  the  great  chair  which  had 
kept  its  place  there  these  twenty  years, — her  own  mother's 
chair  ;  and  Hester's  face  burned  as  she  thought  of  Robert 
W^aldron  resting  in  it  in  her  little  study  upstairs. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  John  Morley,  looking  towards  the  empty 
place,  "I  miss  it,  Hester.  Is  our  poor  guest  up  yet? 
Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Hester,  briefly. 

"  I  will  visit  him  myself  as  soon  as  I  am  at  liberty,"  he 
continued  ,  "  has  he  made  known  to  you  his  name  and 
family?" 

Hester  started,  and  hesitated.  At  all  risks  she  must 
keep  t!iis  terrible  secret  from  him  ;  and  yet  she  was  not 
practiced  in  dissimulation,  and  was  not  ready  with  a  reply. 


A    TRKSCRIPTIOX.  1^1 

Fortunately  he  was  habitually  indifferent  to  any  subject  of 
conversation. 

"I  did  not  ask  him,"  she  stammereil  ;  "I  was  afiaid 
of  exciting  him.  Indeed,  I  know  Mr.  Grant  did  not  \vi;-.h 
me  to  see  him  at  all  ;  but  I  thought  it  would  do  no  harm. 
You  had  better  not  see  him  at  present,  father;  he  is  still 
very  ill.     Hark!     There  is  Mr.  Grant." 

It  was  Mr.  Grant,  descending  the  staircase  as  noisily  as 
possible.  He  approached  the  door  and  gave  three  sharp 
distinct  raps  upon  it,  which  was  answered  by  Hester  open- 
ing it  as  quietly  as  usual.  He  looked  in  with  a  frank 
hearty  smile,  and  spoke  in  one  of  those  voices,  full  of  life 
and  spirits,  which  sound  so  cheerfully  in  chambers  of 
gloom  and  sickness. 

'"Come,  Mr.  Morley,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  medical  man, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  prescription  gratis.  You  ought  to 
take  a  walk  of  two  hours  every  day  in  this  lovely  country. 
I  am  going  for  a  run  now.     Come  with  me,  sir." 

"  And  who  will  attend  to  my  business.''"  asked  John 
Morley,  with  a  second  gleam  upon  his  face. 

"  Your  business  is  to  be  well,"  persisted  Grant ;  "  and 
how  can  you  be  well,  sitting  here  all  day  long,  brooding 
and  moody,  till  you  are  capable  of  committing  any  crime 
in  the  calendar?  Put  up  your  shutters  and  lock  the  door, 
^nd  write  on  it,  '  Gone  for  a  walk.'  Take  my  word  for  it, 
you  would  not  lose  any  custom  by  it.  You  must  take  a 
good  two  hours'  walk  evei-y  day,  or  you  may  end  by  being 
guilty  of  murder,  Mr.  Morley." 

He  spoke  lightly  ;  but  he  looked  hard  at  the  moody 
man  he  was  addressing,  and  John  Morley's  face  percepti- 
bly deepened  in  gloom.  His  fingers  tightened  over  the 
ruler  he  had  been  using,  and  his  eyes  glistened  darkly 
under  his  bushy  eyebrows. 

"More  men  are  guilty  of  murder  than  you  think  of," 


152  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

he  answered;  "but  it  is  not  a  daily  walk  that  will  save  .1 
soul  from  crime." 

"  It  would  go  far  to  save  yours,"  said  Grant,  eagerly  ; 
"only  put  yourself  into  my  hands,  and  try  it.  Instead  of 
sitting  here  in  this  dull  room,  wearing  your  heart  and  your 
brains  out  in  brooding  over  Heaven  knows  what,  go  out 
into  the  sunshine  and  bracing  air  of  the  fields;  you'd  be 
as  far  from  murder  or  any  other  sin  as  a  child  is." 

"You  are  a  boy  yet,"  replied  John  Morley,  "and 
scarce!}  know  what  you  talk  about.  You  do  not  know 
what  it  is  for  God's  sun  to  give  you  neither  heat  nor  light, 
and  for  the  cool  winds  to  make  the  fever  of  your  heart  the 
hotter.  But  I  run  no  risk  of  being  guilty  of  murder — not 
I.  Why  me,  more  than  any  other  man.-*  or  why  murder, 
more  than  any  other  crime  ? " 

He  gazed  darkly  and  suspiciously  at  Grant,  whose 
open  face  had  exchanged  its  frank  smile  for  an  air  of  dis- 
quietude, and  who  returned  his  gaze  apparently  with 
words  upon  his  tongue  which  he  longed  to  speak,  but  the 
moment  for  which  was  not  yet  come. 

"  Mr.  Morley,"  he  said,  in  an  altered  tone,  "  you  told 
me,  ten  days  ago,  that  you  did  not  know  the  man  whom  1 
found  nearly  murdered  at  your  door." 

"No,"  he  answered;  "he  is  a  stranger  to  me.  He 
must  be  a  stranger  in  the  town  ;  for  if  he  belonged  to  Lit- 
tle Aston,  he  would  have  been  missed.  Has  he  told  you 
who  he  is  .■•  " 

"  You  see  why  I  think  of  murder,"  said  Grant ;  "  it  is 
no  wonder  that  my  mind  runs  upon  it.  At  your  own  door 
a  murder  was  well-nigh  accomplished,  and  the  victim  was 
only  saved  by  a  mere  accident — the  barest  chance.  It  is 
a  strange  story.  Has  the  man  an  enemy  }  Who  struck 
that  blow  ?  Where  did  the  assassin  escape  to  .-'  Where  is 
he  now  ?     Is  there  any  meaning  in  the  spot  where  he  was 


A   PRESCRIPTION.  153 

almost  murdered  ?     I  ask  myself  these  questions  over  and 
over  again,  and  I  suspect  every  man  I  meet." 

Grant  spoke  vehemently,  but  with  a  suppressed  earn- 
estness, more  impressive  than  passionate.  Hester  felt  a 
sickening  dread  and  faintness-  creep  over  her,  yet  she 
scarcely  knew  what  dim  suspicions  were  taking  hold  of 
her  mind.  She  listened  breathlessly  for  her  father's  re- 
ply. 

"They  are  grave  questions,"  he  said,  calmly;  "but 
your  patient  alone  can  answer  them.  It  is  a  case  for  po- 
lice investigation,  and  it  should  have  been  put  into  their 
hands  at  once.  I  suppose  any  other  man  but  me  would 
have  done  it.  Do  you  not  know  the  stranger's  name 
yet  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Grant,  still  scanning  John  Morley's 
face  with  close  scrutiny;  "  but  I  hold  it  as  a  trust  which  I 
am  not  to  betray.  He  has  resolved  also  to  conceal  the 
savage  attack  made  upon  himi,  out  of  consideration  for  his 
supposed  enemy.  The  whole  thing  is  to  be  kept  a  secret, 
even  from  his  own  family.  No  one  will  know  it  except 
ourselves,  and  with  us  it  will  be  safe." 

"  It  will  be  safe  with  me,"  said  John  Morley  ;  "but 
this  is  a  stranger  story  than  before.  An  attempt  at  as- 
sassination in  a  quiet,  remote  town  like  this,  and  the  vic- 
tim of  it  is  anxious  to  hush  it  up  !  Who  is  this  man,  and 
where  does  he  come  from?  What  does  he  suppose  is  the 
motive  for  the  crime  ?  This  mystery,  mark  you,  is  being 
acted  within  my  own  walls.  I  must  see  the  stranger  and 
question  him  ;  it  is  only  fitting  that  I  should  know  more 
about  it." 

John  Morley's  face  was  lit  up  with  a  new  expressiqn 
of  sinister  interest  and  resolution.  He  r^se  frQm  his 
chair,  straightened  his  bowed  shoulders,  and  lifted  up  his 
drooping  head.     Hester  tfembledj  but  she  ^id  T\qt.  dare  to 

7*        '  • 


T54  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

speak  ,  she  did  not  know  yet  what  she  dreaded   or  sus- 
pected. 

The  twilight  had  already  begun  to  gather  in  this  house, 
surrounded  by  so  many  higher  walls.  John  IMorlcy  turn- 
ed the  key  in  his  shop-door,  that  no  one  might  enter  while 
he  was  absent  ;  and  as  he  returned  to  his  sitting-room  be- 
hind it,  he  said,  in  a  lighter  tone,  "  I  will  follow  your  ad- 
vice ;  I  am  about  to  leave  my  business  to  take  care  of 
itself  for  awhile." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

FACE    TO   FACE. 

HKv  tER  had  only  time  to  fly  up-stairs  to  the  little 
n  om  where  she  had  left  Robert  Waldron,  and  to 
lower  the  blind  over  the  window  to  add  to  the  duskiness 
of  the  evening.  With  a  hurried  and  importunate  voice  she 
addressee  herself  to  him, — 

"  My  rather  is  coming,"  she  said  ;  "  oh  ?  be  so  careful 
what  you  say.  He  has  suffered  so  much,  and  from  you. 
If  it  is  possible,  hide  from  him  who  you  are." 

He  entered  the  room  as  she  finished  speaking,  closely 
followed  by  Grant.  The  light  was  very  dim,  and,  such  as 
there  was,  it  tell  full  upon  the  face  and  figure  of  John  Mor- 
ley,  so  eloquent  of  ruin  and  loss  and  utter  wreck,  that 
Robert,  who  had  longed  to  see  for  himself  the  change  that 
others  reported  as  wrought  in  him,  felt  his  eyes  fastened 
and  held  by  a  spell  which  he  could  not  conquer.  He  was 
on  his  part,  in  the  shade,  and  the  years  which  had  passed 
over  him  had  been  those  which  transform  a  youth  of  three- 
and-twenty  into  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  There  was  lit- 
tle danger  that  John  Morley  would  recognize  in  thi;- 
bearded  stranger,  still  wearing  a  bandage  about  his  head, 
the  gay,  handsome,  thoughtless  boy,  whom  the  world  was 
inclined  to  blame  but  little  for  his  follies  and  faults.  But 
Grant  and  Robert  Waldron  were  not  alarmed  by  the  fear 
of  discovery.  There  was  not  a  doubt  in  their  minds  that 
it  was  this  man's  hand,  thin  and  white  as  a  scholar's,  but 


156  HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

nerved  with  long-cherished  hatred,  which  had  scarcely 
missed  of  murder. 

"  Mr.  Grant  tells  me,"  said  John  Morley,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  very  quiet  key,  "  that  you  are  now  out  of  dan- 
ger, and  will  soon  be  able  to  be  moved.  Have  you  com- 
municated with  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  Robert,  in  tremulous  and  indis- 
tinct tones. 

"  They  will  be  anxious  about  you,"  he  resumed,  "  and 
I  am  afraid  you  will  find  the  accommodation  of  my  house 
very  limited.  Such  as  it  is,  you  are  very  welcome  to  it ; 
but  the  situation  is  confined,  and  not  good  for  an  invalid. 
Still,  you  or  Mr.  Grant  have  only  to  make  your  wants 
known  to  my  daughter  Hester,  and  we  will  do  all  in  our 
power  to  make  your  sojourn  here  comfortable.  I  beg  that 
you  will  not  leave  until  you  feel  quite  equal  to  the  effort." 

The  words  were  hospitable  and  polite,  and  his  manner 
did  not  belie  them.  There  was  something  of  an  antique 
and  laborious  courtesy  about  him, — the  ceremoniousness 
of  an  old  school,  but  it  commanded  respect;  and  Robert 
Waldron  bowed  and  murmured  a  few  words  of  thanks. 

•'  But,"  said  John  Morley,  distinctly,  "  you  would  do 
me  a  favor,  one  that  you  will  not  refuse  me,  I  am  sure,  by 
letting  us  know  the  name  of  the  stranger  who  is  wuthin  our 
doors." 

Hester  held  her  breath  to  listen.  It  was  a  moment  of 
intense  anxietv  to  her.  In  all  her  life,  immured  and  iso- 
lated as  it  had  been,  she  had  never  heard  a  lie  spoken  ; 
and  now  she  trembled  between  the  desire  of  having  the 
truth  concealed  at  all  hazards,  and  the  dread  of  having  a 
falsehood  uttered  at  her  instigation.  She  had  been  very 
near  the  sin  herself  only  a  few  minutes  before  ;  and  a 
sharp  pang  shot  through  her  as  she  waited  for  Robert 
Waldron's  untruth.     Her  conscience  kept  the  sensitiveness 


FACE   TO   FACE.  157 

of  a  conscience  which  knew  nothing  of  the  evil  world  out- 
side her  father's  house. 

"  My  name  is  Roberts,"  he  said,  unhesitatingly,  "  I  am 
unknown  here,  and  my  family  is  in  London." 

"  And  may  I  ask  further  what  you  mean  to  do  about 
this  affair  ? "  asked  John  Morley. 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered. 

"  Nothing !  "  echoed  John  Morley,  "  excuse  me,  but  I 
find  your  decision  singular.  Would  it  be  possible  to  fur- 
nish us  with  any  explanation  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Robert,  "  I  believe  I  know  the  man ; 
I  could  lay  my  hand  upon  him  at  any  time.  I  know  what 
has  driven  him  to  crime,  and  I  must  pass  it  over.  He  is 
safe  from  me,  and  would  to  God  I  could  feel  that  he  is  now 
avenged  !     I  shall  keep  out  of  his  way  for  the  future." 

He  looked  up  significantly  and  imploringly  into  John 
Morley's  grey,  worn  face,  which  underwent  no  change 
while  he  spoke.  He  stood  opposite  to  him  in  the  dim 
light,  his  white  head  bowed  towards  him  ;  and  Robert 
Waldron  could  no  longer  keep  back  the  tears  and  sobs 
which  overmastered  him. 

"  You  are  still  very  weak,"  said  John  Morlej^  sooth- 
ingly •  "  and,  if  I  have  wearied  you  by  my  questions,  I 
pray  you  to  forgive  me.  When  you  are  more  able  to  bear 
it,  I  will  speak  to  you  again  on  this  subject.  In  the  mean- 
time make  my  house  your  home,  until  your  friends  come 
to  you,  or  you  can  go  safely  to  them.  Both  you  and  Mr. 
Grant  are  welcome  here.     I  leave  you  to  his  care  now." 

The  interview  had  been  a  short  one,  but  it  was  quite 
long  enough  for  Robert  Waldron.  He  had  seen  face  to 
face  the  man  who  had  forbidden  him  to  set  his  foot  in  any 
place  where  he  could  by  any  chance  encounter  him. 
There  had  been  nothing  in  his  words  or  in  his  manner  to 
betray  that  he  knew  him;  but  Robert  could  not  doubt  it. 


158  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

To  his  mind  it  seemed  as  if  (here  was  now  a  tacit  and  cov- 
ert reconciliation  between  them.  It  miglit  be  one  never  to 
DC  displayed  openly  to  the  world  ;  but  there  was  a  fairer 
balance  of  injury  between  them  which  might  well  satisfy 
John  Morley's  resentment.  He  felt  no  apprehension  of 
further  vengeance,  though  he  might  remain  in  his  dwelling. 
If  John  Morley  had  lifted  up  his  hand  against  his  life,  it 
had  been  in  a  moment  of  ungovernable  passion,  which  had 
come  upon  him  unawares.  The  man  was  too  stricken,  too 
impassive  in  his  profound  melancholy,  to  exert  himself  to 
active  hate.  He  could  not  lash  his  heavy  spirit  into 
schemes  of  revenge.  Robert  Waldron  felt  that  he  could 
rest  where  he  was  in  perfect  safety. 

Besides,  the  agitation  of  the  day  had  thrown  him  back 
in  his  recovery,  and  he  did  not  leave  his  room  again  for  some 
time.  While  Hester  was  feverishly  anxious  lo  get  him  re- 
moved before  there  was  a  chance  of  her  father  seeing  him 
again,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  fretful  languor  of  a  tedious 
convalescence,  which  was  only  soothed  by  her  occasional 
visits  to  him.  He  preferred  her  quiet  little  study  to  the 
great  empty  apartments  of  Aston  Court  and  the  attend- 
ance of  the  old  housekeeper.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave 
a  place  possessing  the  peculiar  charm  for  him,  perilous  yet 
pleasant,  which  an  outlaw  might  feel  in  being  under  the 
roof  of  the  authority  who  has  proclaimed  his  outlawry. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days,  however.  Grant  announced 
to  him  that  the  time  was  come  when  he  ought  to  leave 
John  Morley's  house.  Robert  had  confided  his  whole 
story  to  him  ;  and  Hester  had  impressed  upon  him  the  ne- 
cessity of  so  effecting  the  removal  that  no  suspicion  should 
be  awakened  in  the  town.  Little  Aston  had  been  very 
curious  both  with  respect  to  the  doctor  and  his  patient ; 
but  Grant  and  Roberts  were  names  altogether  unknown 
here,  and  John  Morley  either  could  not  or  would  not  re- 


FACE   TO   FACE.  159 

veal  anything  more  about  the  strangers.  Late  at  night 
therefore,  a  night  when  John  Morley  was  attending  a  ser- 
vice at  the  chapel,  a  cab  which  Grant  had  hired  from  a 
':own  some  miles  distant,  drove  up  to  the  door  ;  and  Rob- 
ert Waldron,  well  wrapped  up,  and  leaning  feebly  upon 
Grant's  arm,  descended  to  the  large  old  kitchen,  which 
formed  the  entrance-hall  of  the  house. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  "  say  good-bye  to  me,  kindly." 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  for  a  moment,  but  would  not 
let  it  linger  in  his  clasp. 

"  Hetty,"  he  said,  sorrowfully,  "  you  have  not  forgiven 
me  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  do  forgive  you,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  anxiety  ; 
"  but  I  want  you  to  get  away.  I  have  had  no  peace  since 
I  knew  who  you  were.  Do  not  think  me  unkind.  I  am 
very,  very  sorry  for  you,  and  I  hope  that  some  time  you 
will  be  very  happy  again.  It  is  no  use  for  both  you  and 
my  father  to  be  miserable  all  your  lives  long.  Good 
bye." 

"  And  am  I  never  to  see  you  again,  Hester  ?  "  he  ask- 
ed, gazing  with  a  quiet  thrill  of  admiration  at  the  rare 
refined  beauty  of  her  thoughtful  face. 

"  It  will  be  best  not,"  she  answered  ;  "  no,  you  cannot 
see  me.  You  must  keep  your  promise  now^,  and  never 
come  near  my  father  again.  I  know  what  you  think,  and 
what  Mr.  Grant  thinks  about  him  ;  and  perhaps  it  is  true. 
But  you  must  never  come  near  us  again.  What  would  have 
become  of  me  and  of  him,  if  you  had  been  found  dead  V  " 

Her  hands  were  clasped  for  an  instant,  and  a  fine 
shadow  of  terror  crossed  her  face.  Robert  Waldron  loi- 
tered still,  regarding  her  fixedly,  as  though  knowing  it  was 
for  the  last  time.  An  old  clock  which  stood  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  apartment  struck  eight,  and  Hester  started 
with  alarm. 


l6o  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"Oh,  make  haste!"  she  cried,  "go  quickly,  for  my 
father  will  be  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Good-bye,  good- 
bye." 

She  put  her  hand  again  into  his,  and  hurried  him  to 
the  door  ;  but  he  had  scarcely  settled  himself  in  the  corner 
of  the  cab  before  John  Morley  came  up.  Grant  was  on 
the  point  of  jumping  in,  and  closing  the  door  ;  but  now  he 
stood  with  one  foot  upon  the  step,  and  turned  round  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  My  patient  is  very  much  exhausted,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  dispense  with  any 
farewell.  We  shall  not  go  far  to-night,  and  I  will  write 
to  you  from  where  we  stop.  We  will  not  loiter  any  longer 
than  we  can  help  in  the  night  air ;  so  good-bye,  Mr.  Mor- 
ley." 

"  Have  you  all  you  need  for  the  journey  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  All, — everything,"  answered  Grant,  hurriedly  ;  "  good- 
bye." 

"  Good-bye  to  you  both,"  said  John  Morley,  raising  his 
hat  from  his  white  head.  Robert  leaned  forward  to  have  a 
last  glance  at  him  and  Hester,  as  she  stood  in  the  lighted 
doorway ;  and  then  he  fell  back  with  a  groan. 

Grant  accompanied  his  patient  to  the  country-town, 
from  whence  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Waldron  in  London,  giving 
such  an  account  of  his  son's  accident  and  illness  as  would 
avoid  exciting  any  suspicion  of  the  truth.  On  the  evening 
of  the  day  upon  which  he  had  received  the  letter,  Mr.  Wal- 
dron was  with  his  son,  anxious  for  him,  and  grateful  be- 
yond measure  to  the  young  doctor.  There  was,  he  said, 
an  opening  for  a  medical  man  at  Little  Aston,  and  he  urged 
him  to  settle  there  under  his  patronage.  He  was  himself 
about  to  give  up  his  public  life  at  the  close  of  the  present 
session,  as   he   felt  old  age  creeping  upon   him,  and  his 


FACE   TO   FACE.  l6l 

health  beginning  to  fail.  A  medical  attendant  in  whom 
he  could  have  confidence  would  soon  become  essential  to 
him  ;  and  he  had  a  pleasant  house  at  the  end  of  the  town 
nearest  to  Aston  Court  where  Grant  could  reside.  The 
young  man  hesitated  but  little.  John  ]Morley  had  once  or 
twice  expressed  his  opinion  that  a  good  country  practice 
might  be  established  there  ;  and  Grant  had  neither  funds 
nor  influence  to  back  him  if  he  attempted  to  launch  him- 
self upon  a  more  ambitious  career.  He  accepted  Mr.  Wal- 
dron's  grateful  offer  with  alacrity ;  and  a  few  weeks  later 
John  Morley  and  Hester  saw  him  appear  again  upon  their 
narrow  stage  at  Little  Aston. 

It  was  not  a  step  altogether  to  Robert  Waldron's 
jnind  ;  but  he  was  accustomed  to  let  things  take  their 
course,  and  he  did  not  oppose  himself  to  this.  The  sole 
reason  he  could  have  urged  against  it,  even  to  himself,  was 
one  which  he  could  not  have  presented  in  plain  words  to 
his  own  conscience  ;  it  was  a  very  subtle  and  vague  feel- 
ing of  jealousy  of  Grant's  acquaintance  with  the  Morleys, 
and  of  the  footing  he  had  already  gained  in  the  solitary, 
and,  to  him,  forbidden  household.  Hester,  he  thought, — 
for  so  far  he  dare  deal  frankly  with  himself, — was  too  rare 
and  dainty  a  prize  for  a  mere  country  doctor.  He  should 
be  sorry  if,  after  her  hard  and  sorrowful  girlhood,  no 
brighter  and  more  fortunate  lot  awaited  her  in  the  future. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 
Hester's  one  wish. 

WHEN  Robert  returned  to  Aston  Court  in  the  spring, 
with  the  traces  of  his  accident  almost  effaced,  he 
found  Grant  lodging  in  a  house  nearly  opposite  to  John 
Morley's,  while  he  waited  for  the  present  tenant  of  his 
promised  dwelling  to  leave.  He  was  living  therefore  with- 
in the  prohibited  precincts  ;  and  friendly  as  he  was  with 
Grant,  Robert  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  it  would  not 
be  quite  safe  to  visit  him  there.  There  was  but  little  need 
for  him  to  do  so,  as  Grant  could  come  freely  and  safely  to 
Aston  Court,  but  his  residence  so  near  to  Hester  quick- 
ened and  fanned  the  almost  unconscious  jealousy  in  Rob- 
ert's nature.  Grant  could  and  did  see  her  every  day ;  he 
heard  her  speak  ;  he  would,  perhaps,  teach  her  to  smile,  to 
laugh  even  ;  and  then  he  recalled  to  mind  the  clear,  sweet, 
uncertain  laughter  of  the  child  Hester,  in  those  days  long 
gone  by  when  he  had  taken  her  upon  his  knee  and  spoken 
to  her  the  words  he  had  hesitated  to  address  directly  to 
Rose.  If  he  could  only  hear  its  music  again  !  If  he  could 
only  watch  die  languid  lines  about  her  lips  melt  and 
tremble  into  smiles  !  If  he  could  but  see  the  light  come 
and  go  in  her  grave  calm  eyes,  as  her  young  heart  stirred 
with  new  and  happy  thoughts  !  He  was  not  in  love  with 
Hester  ;  it  would  have  shocked  him  to  have  dreamed  of 
being  so,  in  his  inmost  heart.  She  was  still  almost  a  child 
to  him  ;  and  a  child  whose  life  he  had  robbed  of  all  nat- 


HESTER'S   ONE   WISH.  1 63 

ural  bouyancy  and  joy.  He  wished  he  could,  with  his  own 
hand,  put  her  into  possession  of  her  proper  inheritance  of 
girlish  gladness  ;  but  he  did  not  like  any  other  hand  to  do 
it.  It  went  very  far  towards  making  him  angry  to  think 
that  a  mere  lad,  uncultivated  and  poor,  and  with  no  attrac- 
tions but  his  youth,  should  stand  so  fair  a  chance  of  doing 
what  he  could  never  do. 

Before  long  Robert  Waldron's  vague  envy  took  more 
definite  form.  It  would  be  a  shame,  he  argued,  to  let  this 
pearl  fall  into  hands  so  rough  and  coarse  as  Grant's,  who 
would  rob  it  of  half  its  delicacy  and  brilliance.  Though 
she  and  her  father  might  count  it  no  bad  settlement  for 
her  to  become  the  wife  of  a  doctor  under  Mr.  Waldron's 
patronage,  it  would  be  but  a  poor  lot  for  her.  They 
would  be  sure  to  think  well  of  Grant's  prospects  and  posi- 
tion. For,  after  all,  John  Morley  v/as  no  other  than  a 
poor  tradesman,  struggling  with  difficulties  ;  and  there  was 
a  stigma  upon  the  name  of  Morley  in  Little  Aston.  The 
last  thought  stung  him  sharply.  But  then  Rose  had  not 
been  Hester's  mother.  The  tie  between  them  w^as  very 
slight  and  had  lasted  only  for  a  few  months.  There  was 
positively  no  relationship  at  all.  At  any  rate,  since  he 
could  not  atone  for  the  past  for  Rose  or  John  Morley,  was 
it  impossible  to  do  something  for  this  little  Hester,  the 
child  who  had  once  been  so  fond  of  him  ?  Could  he  not 
place  her  in  some  position  where  her  grace  and  beauty 
would  be  better  seen  than  in  her  present  obscurity  and 
poverty  ?  He  was  rich  himself,  ha\ang  already  inherited 
an  estate  from  his  mother,  and  some  day  his  wealth  would 
be  doubled.  It  would  be  easy  for  him  to  remove  Hester 
from  her  own  sphere  to  one  where  life  would  be  all  gayety 
and  brightness  about  her.  But  it  would  be  necessary  10 
see  her  often,  and  to  make  himself  well  acquainted  with 
her  character.     How  could  this  be  managed  ? 


164  HESTER    MOR ley's   PROMISE. 

There  reinained  yet  two  or  three  months  of  the  session 
to  run  out  before  his  father  and  sister  returned  to  sett'.e 
permanently  at  Aston  Court ;  and  Robert  was  not  at  all 
sure  that  their  residence  there  would  be  favorable  to  his 
views  with  regard  to  Hester.  Since  his  return  she  had 
never  been  to  the  Court.  How  to  meet  her  again,  with 
no  excitement  which  should  alarm  her,  or  make  her  un- 
willing to  speak  to  him,  became  the  problem  of  his  many 
idle  hours.  He  haunted  the  beautiful  fields  and  lanes  of 
the  neighborhood,  in  the  hope  of  crossing  her  path  ;  but 
Hester  was  accustomed  to  walking  early  in  the  morning, 
at  an  hour  when  he  scarcely  knew  that  the  sun  had  risen  ; 
and  he  haunted  the  fields  and  lanes  in  vain.  It  was  only 
through  Grant,  who  always  avoided  mentioning  John  Mor- 
ley  and  Hester,  that  he  could  gain  any  information  con- 
cerning her. 

"You  see  the  Morleys  often,  Grant,"'  he  said  one  day, 
with  an  air  of  nonchalance. 

"  Most  days,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"  Living  directly  opposite  to  them,  you  may  see  them 
without  going  to  the  house,"  said  Robert. 

"  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  all  I  can  see  is  the  window  of 
a  room  where  the  shutters  have  not  been  taken  down 
since  I  lived  there.  I  go  in  most  days  for  a  chat  with  the 
old  man  and  Miss  Hester." 

"  Z'ajfii  de  la  jnaison,'^  observed  Robert,  with  an  ill-tem- 
pered sneer. 

"  And  the  only  friend,"  responded  Grant. 

"  Does  poor  little  Hetty  visit  nowhere  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Nowhere,"  replied  Grant ;  "  well,  yes,  at  one  house, 
and  that  is  an  odd  one  ;  and  her  friend  is  still  more  odd. 
I  dare  say  you  have  no  idea  that  there  is  such  a  place  in 
Little  Aston.  It  is  a  back  court,  with  an  alley  leading  to 
it,  just  opposite  the  chapel  at  the  top  of  our  street.     There 


Hester's  one  wish.  165 

is  a  small  baker's  shop  in  the  court,  where  family  baking 
is  done  ;  and  Hester's  friend  lives  in  the  top  story  of  the 
baker's  house.  I  went  with  her  one  day  to  visit  her  friend, 
who  was  ailing.  The  ailment  was  a  mere  nothing  :  but 
she  turned  out  to  be  an  old  Frenchwoman  who  could  not 
speak  a  word  of  English.  Hester  was  obliged  to  interpret 
between  us,  and  "t  was  amusing  enough,  I  assure  you.  I 
know  very  little  of  French,  and  I  cannot  understand  a 
word  she  says." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  The  mother  of  Lawson,  Mr.  Morley's  bookbinder," 
said  Grant;  "his  father  was  a  workman  in  a  Parisian 
house,  and  married  a  Frenchwoman  there.  She  only  came 
over  to  live  with  her  son  a  few  months  ago,  and  Hester 
goes  to  see  her  occasionally.  It  is  her  fete-day  to-day, 
and  she  has  invited  me  to  make  one  of  the  party  ;  but  I 
shall  not  have  time." 

"  Is  she  poor  .'' "  inquired  Robert,  with  an  air  of  sud- 
den interest. 

"  I  take  it  for  granted,"  he  answered,  "  since  her  son  is 
only  Mr,  Morley's  bookbinder.  He  is  another  curious 
study,  well  worth  time  ;  eats  opium,  and  is  a  little  shaky 
in  the  upper  story.  Hester  tells  me  he  used  to  see  vis- 
ions, and  that  he  is  greatly  depressed  now  they  have 
ceased.     I  see  him  often." 

"  I  don't  know  the  man  at  all,"  said  Robert ;  "  but 
this  old  Frenchwoman  must  be  a  curiosity  in  Little  Aston. 
I  can  talk  any  patois  of  French -like  a  native,  and  I  think 
I  will  go  and  see  her." 

"  You  had  better  not,"  said  Grant,  significantly  ;  "  the 
court  is  exactly  opposite  the  chapel  in  our  street, — you 
understand.     You  must  keep  away," 

"  That's  a  bore,"  said  Robert  Waldron,  with  a  slight 
yawn  of  indifference. 


l66  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

But  as  soon  as  Grant  had  left  him,  he  turned  his  steps 
eagerly  towards  the  house  of  Lawson's  mother.  By  mak- 
ing a  circuit  he  could  reach  the  upper  end  of  the  street 
without  passing  near  John  Morley's  house  ;  and  at  this 
hour  of  the  afternoon  it  was  certain  that  he  would  be  con- 
fined to  it  by  his  business.  The  alley  opposite  the  chapel 
was  easily  discovered,  but  he  was  an  apparition  so  re- 
markable in  the  court,  that  all  its  scanty  population  turned 
out  to  stare  at  him,  and  the  subdued  clamor  of  their  voices 
attracted  the  foreigner  whom  he  had  come  to  seek,  to  her 
window.  For  the  first  moment  Robert  could  scarely  be- 
lieve he  was  in  a  town  in  England.  The  old  halftimber 
house,  with  its  very  pointed  gable  surrounded  by  rotten 
wood-work,  and  the  clear,  fresh,  coquettish,  aged  face  of 
the  Frenchwoman  framed  in  the  small  lattice  casement, 
was  like  a  vision  of  the  lands  where  he  had  spent  so  many 
years  of  his  life.  Remounted  the  winding  staircase  with 
swift  steps.  The  old  woman  had  opened  the  door,  and 
the  whole  scene  throughout  seemed  familiar  to  him.  He 
presented  himself  before  Madame  with  all  the  courtesy  and 
politeness  which  go  far  to  win  the  people  of  her  country. 
He  could  speak  to  her  fluently,  and  the  tears  started 
to  her  eyes  as  she  listened  to  her  native  tongue. 

"  Madame  will  pardon  me,"  said  Robert,  "  for  intrud- 
ing upon  her.  But  I  know  France  well ;  I  have  lived 
long  in  that  charming  country.  Therefore  I  have  ventured 
to  pay  a  visit  here,  uninvited. 

"  Ah,  Seigneur  !  "  exclaimed  Madame,  with  vivacity, 
"  but  monsieur  is  the  welcome  one.  Seat  yourself,  I  pray 
you.  You  know  France  well  ?  You  have  lived  there  ? 
O,  mon  Dieu  !  talk  to  me  about  my  dear  country." 

Robert  accepted  the  seat  she  oifered  him  near  to  her- 
self, and  took  infinite  pains  to  make  an  agreeable  impres- 
sion.    It  was  not  difficult.     The  delight  of  conversing  in 


HESTER'S   ONE   WISH.  1 67 

her  own  language  freely  became  almost  a  transport  and  an 
ecstasy  to  her.  She  laughed,  she  wept,  she  nodded  and 
tossed  her  head,  she  gesticulated  to  her  heart's  content, 
and,  for  the  time,  felt  herself  at  home  again.  The  hours 
in  which  Hester  sat  beside  her,  talking  timidly  in  the  unfa- 
miliar words,  were  nothing  compared  to  this  golden  hour 
when  this  charming  stranger,  so  distinguished,  so  amiable, 
in  so  beautiful  a  toilette,  listened  to  her,  and  did  not  re- 
quire her  to  speak  slowly  and  heavily.  She  had  not  been 
so  happy  since  she  left  Burgundy. 

"  You  are  triste  here,"  he  said  at  the  first  pause  in  his 
flood  of  words  ;  "have  you  no  one  to  visit  you?" 

"  No  ]  I  am  never  triste,  answered  the  old  woman 
gayly,  "always  I  can  think  of  making  my  toilette,  and  go- 
ing out  into  the  town  ;  but  that  time  never  comes.  There 
is  rain,  or  there  is  no  sun,  or  I  have  the  migraine.  But  I 
am  never  triste., — never.  I  have  all  the  dear  little  saints 
to  talk  to,  and  I  say  many  more  prayers  here  in  England 
than  in  France  ;  and  the  saints  are  very  good  company, 
you  may  be  very  sure.  Then  there  is  Miss  Hester,  ray 
cherished  one  !  She  is  coming  to  pay  me  a  visit  this 
evening.  It  is  my  fete-day,  and  we  have  a  little  feast  to- 
gether. We  take  tea  here,  because  my  son  cannot  buy  the 
wines  of  France." 

"  You  must  permit  me  to  send  you  some,"  interrupted 
Robert ;  "  I,  too,  like  the  wines  of  France." 

"  But  no  !  but  no,  Monsieur,"  cried  Madame,  "  a  thou- 
sand thanks, — but  no  !  " 

"  Who  is  Miss  Hester  ? "  asked  Robert. 

"  It  is  an  angel,"  responded  Madame,  gro\^^ng  with  hilar- 
ity ;  "a  veritable  angel !  I  could  do  my  little  acts  of  de- 
votion before  her  as  before  a  blessed  saint !  I  adore  her. 
Monsieur.  She  is  perfectly  charming  ;  but  triste,  too  tristt 
for  one  so  young.     I  say  to  her,  '  Go  to  France,  my  clier 


l68  HESTER   MORLEVS   PROMISE. 

ished  one.  Go,  go.  There  the  sun  shines,  and  one 
laughs  without  knowing  why.'  Her  religion  is  triste ;  also 
too  solemn.  There  are  no  dear  little  saints  to  confess 
one's  little  faults  to  ;  and  it  is  too  solemn  to  go  always 
before  the  great  God  for  every  trifle.  She  should  visit 
my  dear  France,  Monsieur.  Chut  !  I  hear  her  voice  be- 
low there." 

They  listened  in  silence,  and  heard  Hester's  low,  pleas- 
ant voice  speaking  to  the  children,  who  were  playing 
about  the  door  to  make  sure  of  seeing  the  stranger  when 
he  came  out  again.  She  came  up  rather  slowly,  step  by 
step,  as  though  feeling  her  way  carefully  through  the 
gloom.  Robert  Waldron's  heart  stirred,  and  his  pulses 
throbbed  as  they  had  never  done  before  ;  and  he  rose 
from  his  seat,  partly  from  a  restlessness  of  excitement,  and 
partly  to  hide  that  excitement  from  the  keen  eyes  of  Mad- 
ame. He  placed  himself  in  a  position  so  as  not  to  be 
seen  at  once  by  Hester  as  she  entered  ;  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  light  tap  upon  the  door  announced  her  arrival. 

She  had  come  in  and  the  door  was  closed  behind  her 
without  her  perceiving  any  other  person  but  the  old  friend 
she  had  come  to  visit ;  and  Robert  Waldron  had  time  to 
notice,  with  a  poignant  sense  of  admiration,  the  delicate 
color  upon  the  cheeks,  and  the  sweet  faint  smile  upon  her 
lips,  as  she  stooped  to  receive  the  double  kiss  with  which 
Madame  greeted  her.  When  this  ceremony  of  reception 
was  ended,  he  stepped  forward,  calm  apparently,  but  with 
a  tremor  through  all  his  nerves  which  was  strange  to  him- 
self. Hester's  eyes  opened  widely  with  an  expression  of 
alarm  ;  and  she  made  an  involuntary  movement  as  if  to 
escape  from  him,  and  take  to  flight. 

"  I  am  going  away  instantly,"  he  said,  not  venturing 
to  approach  her  more  nearly  ;  "  you  are  before  your  time, 
Hester.     And   yet,"  he  added,  looking  into  her  candid 


Hester's  one  wish.  169 

eyes,  and  resolved  to  cast  himself  frankly  upon  the  truth, 
••■  I  own  I  came  here  solely  to  see  you,  and  to  speak  to 
you.  Grant  told  me  you  were  coming  to  visit  this  old 
woman  to-day,  and  I  have  introduced  myself  here  for  the 
chance  of  meetino;  you.  There  was  no  other  opportunity, 
and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  see  you  once  more." 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  see  me  ?  "  asked  Hester, 
not  angrily,  but  in  a  sorrowful  voice  which  made  his  heart 
beat  the  faster  ;  "  what  have  you  to  say  to  me  that  can  do 
any  of  us  good  ^  " 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  there  is  much  that  I  could  say  to 
you,  and  very  much  that  I  can  do  for  you.  Do  you  under- 
stand that  I  must  do  everything  in  my  power,  for  my  own 
peace  of  mind,  if  not  for  the  sake  of  making  your  life  more 
happy?  Now  that  I  have  been  in  your  home,  and  seen 
the  wreck  there  with  my  own  eyes,  there  will  be  no  more 
rest  for  me  until  I  have  repaired  it  in  some  measure,  how- 
ever little.  I  could  not  know  by  any  other  means  all  that 
I  had  done  ;  and  do  you  suppose  I  can  now  forget  it  ? 
I  remember  your  father  a  happy  man,  growing  rich,  and 
with  a  successful  future  before  him.  I  have  seen  him 
now,  and  his  ruin  is  before  me  day  and  night." 

He  spoke  with  so  much  earnestness  that  he  began  to 
feel  as  if  pity  for  her  father  was  the  real  and  most  deeply- 
rooted  motive  of  his  conduct.  He  had  no  purpose  to 
deceive  Hester.  He  was  in  fact  deceiving  himself;  and 
his  handsome  face  wore  an  aspect  of  profound  and  solemn 
remorse.  "  And  you,"  he  continued,  "  the  child  who 
loved  me,  the  little  girl  who  used  to  watch  for  my  coming 
and  brighten  into  smiles  when  you  saw  me  ;  my  heart 
aches  to  see  you  thus.  Hester,  who  will  give  you  back 
ihe  lost  laughter  of  your  childhood  ?  Who  can  recall 
these  gloomy  days,  which  ought  to  have  been  steeped  in 
brightness?  If  I  could  but  call  back  the  past,  and  once 
8 


I/O  HESTER   MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

moie  set  us  all  as  we  were  ten  years  ago,  I  would  pay 
down  my  life  gladly  as  the  price."  Hester  raised  her  eyes 
to  his,  and  read  in  them  an  expression  which  fully  sustain- 
ed the  words  he  was  speaking.  It  was  not  in  her  nature 
to  doubt,  and  experience  had  not  taught  her  to  suspect. 
She  let  Robert  Waldron  take  her  cold  hand  in  his  own, 
and  stood  beside  him,  trembling,  but  calm  and  grave. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  .^ "  he  asked,  in  a 
pleading  tone;  "your  face  always  wears  a  look  of  care. 
Is  it  anything  besides  the  old  trouble?  Let  me  speak 
frankly  to  you,  my  child  ;  for  you  are  still  no  more  than  a 
child  to  me, — the  little  Hetty  you  used  to  be.  I  am  rich, 
and  from  many  persons  I  hear  that  you  are  poor.  If 
there  be  any  time  when  money  becomes  a  pressing  want 
with  you,  will  you  look  to  me  as  an  elder  brother  whose 
greatest  satisfaction  would  be  to  do  anything  for  you  ?  Is 
there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  now  ?  Have  you  no 
anxiety  which  I  could  take  away  from  you  at  once  } " 

"  There  is  nothing  you  can  do,"  answered  Hester,  with 
drooping  eyelids,  and  lashes  burdened  with  tears  which 
did  not  fall. 

"Yet  think,"  urged  Robert  Waldron;  "for  my  sake 
give  me  something  to  do  for  you.  It  is  to  give  me  relief 
from  the  remorse  I  feel.  Have  you  no  wish  which  you 
could  entrust  to  me  ?  Is  there  nothing  you  want  if  you 
had  the  means  ?  I  am  a  man,  an  idle  man,  with  nothing 
to  occupy  me.     I  would  do  anything  for  you." 

Hester  looked  up  to  him  again  with  her  truthful  and 
searching  gaze,  and  retreated  to  the  side  of  the  French- 
woman, who  had  been  standing  by  with  an  eager  curiosity, 
unable  to  comprehend  a  syllable  of  the  earnest  words 
which  were  being  spoken.  The  girl's  young  face  was  as 
white  as  marble,  and  almost  as  motionless,  except  for  the 


HESTERS   ONE   ^VISH.  I71 

flicker   of  the  light  in    her   eyes,  which    seemed    to   be 
kindled  from  within. 

"  I  have  had  one  wish,"  she  said,  with  pallid  lips  that 
scarcely  parted  to  whisper  it,  "  ever  since  I  knew  that  she 
was  lost.  You  are  a  rich  man,  and  an  idle  one,  and  you 
want  to  make  atonement.  Find  her  whom  we  have  lost ; 
find  her  who  loved  you.  I  think  of  her  day  after  day,  and 
I  ask  God  to  bring  her  back  to  me  every  morning  ana 
night.  She  was  so  kind  and  so  pretty  ;  I  dare  not  call 
her  good  now.  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  her, — where 
she  is  at  this  minute, — what  she  is  doing  or  suffering. 
Oh  !  if  I  had  been  you,  I  should  never  have  given  up  seek- 
ing for  her." 

"Good  heavens,  Hester!"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you 
suppose  I  did  not  do  all  I  could  to  find  her  ?  I  left  her 
at  Falaise,  while  I  came  over  to  England  on  business  ; 
and  when  I  returned  there  was  not  a  trace  of  her  to  be 
found.     I  did  everything  in  my  power  at  the  time." 

"  I  have  read  in  books,"  said  Hester,  with  an  air  of 
wisdom,  "  that  it  is  no  sorrow  to  get  rid  of  a  woman 
of  whom  one  is  tired.  You  were  already  getting  tired  of 
her,  perhaps.  There  was  no  longer  any  pleasure  in  being 
near  her.  Did  you  try  to  find  her  as  you  would  have  done 
if  she  had  been  your  sister  or  your  wife  who  was  lost  to 
you  ? " 

At  another  time  Robert  Waldron  might  have  smiled  at 
the  tone  of  girlish  sagacity  with  which  Hester  spoke  ;  but 
just  now  he  was  conscience-stricken.  No  ;  he  had  not 
sought  for  Rose  with  the  persevering  energy  he  would 
have  used  had  she  been  really  dear  to  him.  So  far 
Hester's  wisdom,  drawn  only  from  books,  was  right ;  and 
yet  he  had  made  many  efforts  and  taken  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  both  at  the  time  and  since.  Rose  had  been 
tolerably  well  supplied  with  money,  and  she  was  no  child 


172  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

when  -^he  quitted  him.  He  had  often  taken  refuge  in  the 
reflection  that  she  was  a  little  older  than  himself.  But 
now  that  he  saw  Hester,  wise  only  with  the  wisdom  of 
books,  and  knowing  nothing  of  real  life,  but  burdened 
with  an  overpowering'  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  the  missing 
woman,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  shamefully  negligent  in 
his  attempt  to  discover  her. 

"  I  cannot  talk  more  about  it,"  cried  Hester,  a  burning 
flush  mounting  to  her  white  cheeks  and  her  calm  forehead, 
"  but  I  have  no  other  great  wish.  There  is  nothing  else 
you  could  do  for  me."  She  said  the  last  k\v  words  in  a 
low  shy  tone,  which  penetrated  to  Robert's  heart.  He 
recollected  Madame's  sentence,  "  that  she  could  do  her 
little  acts  of  devotion  before  her  as  before  a  saint."  He 
also  would  willingly  have  knelt  at  her  feet  to  make  there 
a  vow  of  penitence  and  atonement,  if  she  would  only  look 
down  upon  him  gently  and  tenderly  with  her  grand,  calm 
eyes,  which  still  bore  the  serenity  of  a  child  in  them.  He 
resolved  in  himself  to  insure  some  means  of  seeing  her 
again,  even  if  she  spoke  only  of  this  subject  so  utterly  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  and  of  which  she  spoke  with  such  simple 
and  innocent  candor. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  "  I  will  take  up  this  search  again. 
But  remember,  it  is  now  more  than  nine  years  ago,  and 
there  is  barely  a  chance  of  success." 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  her,"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  him  again  ;  "  whatever  she  is,  or  wherever  she 
is,  you  must  rescue  her.  It  will  bring  peace  to  me,  and 
later,  perhaps,  to  my  father.  When  he  comes  to  die,  how 
horrible  it  will  be  not  to  know  where  she  is,  or  what  has 
befallen  her  !  But  if  you  find  her,  then  I  shall  know 
what  answer  to  give  him  when  he  asks  himself  some  day 
or  other,  '  What  has  become  of  my  poor  Rose  ? '  " 

"  I  will  go,  I  will  spare  nothing,"  said  Robert,  warmed 


HESTER'S   ONE    WISH.  173 

by  one  of  the  generous  impulses  which  from  time  to  time 
broke  through  the  indolent  selfishness  of  his  temperament. 
He  believed  that  there  was  no  other  motive  at  work  within 
him,  save  that  of  an  earnest  desire  to  repair  the  mischief 
he  had  done  ;  yet  he  kept  Hester's  small  hand  clasped 
tightly  in  his  own,  and  felt  it  impossible  to  resolve  upon 
leaving  her  presence. 

"  I  must  leave  you,  Madame,''  he  said,  addressing 
the  old  Frenchwoman  ;  '•  1  am  about  to  start  for  your  dear 
France,  but  I  shall  return  in  three  or  four  weeks,  and,  if 
you  will  permit  me,  I  will  pay  you  an  early  visit.  Hester," 
he  added,  in  English,  "it  will  be  necessary  to  tell  you  all  I 
do.  Can  I  write  to  you  safely .''  Will  your  father  see  my 
letter?"' 

"You  can  write  to  me,"  she  answered;  "my  father 
will  know  nothing  about  it.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  little  Hetty,"  he  replied;  "say,  'God 
speed  you,  Robert  Waldron.'  " 

"  God  speed  you,"  repeated  Hester,  with  a  glance  into 
his  eyes  which  made  his  heart  throb  again.  He  laid  his 
moustached  lip  against  each  smooth  cheek  of  Madame, 
with  an  air  of  gallantry  as  exquisitely  refreshing  to  her  as 
cold  waters  to  a  thirsty  soul ;  and,  with  a  last  look  at  Hes- 
ter, he  hastened  from  the  poor  garret,  and  down  the  stairs, 
as  if  the  next  instant  should  see  him  on  his  way  to  South- 
ampton, the  nearest  route  to  France. 

He  did  start,  as  soon  as  he  could  make  such  arrange- 
ments as  would  not  involve  confiding  the  reason  of  his 
expedition  to  his  father.  He  had  no  wish  to  make  him 
acquainted  either  with  his  recent  intercourse  with  Hester, 
or  the  quixotic  mission  ohe  had  sent  him  abroad  for.  This 
mission  was  so  utterly  distasteful  to  him,  that  but  a  little 
more  painfulness  would  have  made  him  abandon  it  alto- 
gether.    It  was  like  raking  among  the  ashes  of  the  dead 


174  HESTER   MOKLEY'S    PROMISE. 

to  reconstruct  a  skeleton.  It  had  not  been  a  pleasant  sin 
to  him,  even  at  the  time  ;  and  now  it  seemed  likely  to 
prove  a  root  of  bitterness  which  had  struck  very  deeply 
indeed.  The  one  point  of  attraction  in  the  whole  of  his 
present  course  of  action  was  the  tie  gradually  formed  by 
it  between  himself  and  Hester.  He  wrote  to  her  fre- 
quently, and  looked  forward  to  another  half-stolen  inter- 
view with  her  upon  his  return.  Three  or  four  times,  also, 
she  wrote  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   HOPELESS   QUEST. 

TBV.  quest  made  by  Robert  Waldron  was,  as  he  ex- 
pected, utterly  fruitless,  so  far  as  its  immediate 
object  was  concerned.  He  could  discover  no  satisfactory 
trace  of  Rose,  though  he  staid  in  Normandy  several  weeks 
longer  than  he  had  at  first  intended,  urged  by  Hester  to 
make  sure  that  he  left  no  means  untried.  At  last  he 
returned  to  England,  without  announcing  his  intention  of 
doing  so  to  her,  and  at  once  paid  a  visit  to  the  garret  of 
Madame  Lawson.  After  his  purposeless  and  impulsive 
nature,  he  resolved  to  see  and  know  more  of  Hester,  with- 
out looking  forward  to  any  result  from  such  an  intercourse, 
except  the  agreeable  distraction  from  ennui  which  it 
afforded  him. 

Madame  Lawson  understood  him  better  than  he  under- 
stood himself;  and  all  her  inherent  love  of  intrigue,  which 
had  been  starving  for  lack  of  food  in  England,  revived  in 
full  force.  She  knew  very  well  that  a  Monsieur,  so  dis- 
tinguished and  so  handsome,  did  not  pay  his  visits  to  her 
garret  out  of  pure  kindness  to  an  exile.  By  dextrous  ques- 
tions she  ascertained  his  position  and  his  wealth.  He 
even  confided  to  her  the  history  of  his  early  fault,  which 
seemed  to  her  so  venial  that  she  exclaimed'  at  these 
strange  English,  who  could  recollect  so  small  a  sin.  She 
could  see  no  reason  whatever  why  this  rich  and  great 
milord  should  not  eventually  love  and  be  loved  by  Hester. 


176  HESTER   MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

In  fact,  it  was  a  beautiful  little  turn  of  the  wheel  by  which 
the  wrong  which  had  been  committed  might  be  redressed. 
She  very  willingly  let  him  know  when  he  might  find  Hes- 
ter at  her  place. 

Robert  took  care  to  be  there  the  very  first  time  Hes- 
ter paid  Madame  a  visit  after  his  return.  But  she  was 
not  a  second  time  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  She  greeted 
him  calmly  and  collectedly,  and  listened  to  his  account  of 
his  journeyings  with  a  grave  and  downcast  face,  while  he 
spoke  to  her  almost  in  a  whisper,  lest  any  word  should 
reach  other  ears  than  her  own.  When  his  narrative  was 
ended,  and  she  looked  more  sad  than  before,  Robert  Wal- 
dron  could  no  longer  keep  back  a  question  which  had 
been  all  the  time  upon  his  mind. 

"What  could  you  do,  Hester?"  he  asked  ;  "you  could 
not  see  her  for  yourself." 

"Not  see  her!"  echoed  Hester,  with  a  sudden  flame 
of  passion  upon  her  quiet  face  ;  "  not  see  her !  Why 
should  I  see  you,  and  refuse  to  speak  to  her  ?  Why 
should  I  let  you  touch  my  hand,  and  hold  it  back  from 
her  ?  I  would  go  to  her  to-day,  if  I  only  knew  where  she 
was." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  the  world  would  ..say,"  said 
Robert  Waldron. 

"  I  believe  I  know  what  Christ  would  think,"  she  mur- 
mured. The  momentary  fire  of  indignation  and  protest 
died  out,  and  she  leaned  her  face  upon  her  hands,  and- 
wept  long  and  bitterly,  with  tears  of  mingled  disappoint- 
ment and  longing.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  world's 
opinion  had  been,  in  any  shape,  thrust  upon  her.  In  her 
own  dreams  of  fresh  romance  and  enthusiastic  religion,  she 
had  seen  no  obstacle  whatever  to  her  scheme  for  seeking 
out  and  rescuing  her  lost  stepmother,  whenever  an  oppor- 
tunity should  occur!     And  now  this  sudden  check  came 


A   HOPELESS   QUEST.  1 7? 

from  hi7?i !  She  wept  so  long  and  hopelessly  that  Robert 
Waldron  was  almost  beside  himself. 

"Hetty,"  he  said,  "I  will  do  whatever  you  bid  me.  I 
will  go  back  again,  and  come  here  no  more  unless  I  find 
her,  if  you  desire  it.  But  there  is  no  chance  of  discover- 
ing her.  I  assure  you  most  solemnly  I  have  done  sli  I 
can ;  yet  I  will  go  back  again." 

"No,  no,"  she  answered,  "you  must  not  leave  your 
father  a  second  time  on  a  useless  errand.  But  I  have  had 
nothing  else  to  think  of  all  these  years,  and  now  it  is  all 
over.     I  only  wish  we  knew  that  she  was  dead  !  " 

Robert  Waldron  echoed  the  wish  ardently  in  his  heart, 
but  he  did  not  utter  it.  Perhaps  she  might  be  dead']  but 
he  had  never  attempted  to  establish  that  point.  He  re- 
solved now  to  put  this  question  afloat,  and  see  what  re- 
sponse he  could  get  to  it. 

"  I  have  thought  of  one  other  thing  I  can  do,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  shall  be  done  quickly.  When  may  I  see  you 
again  ? " 

"  I  come  here  often,"  she  answered,  with  wistful  eager- 
ness ;  "  this  is  the  only  place  where  I  dare  meet  with  you. 
My  father  must  never  know  it." 

Hester  had  been  so  long  sole  mistress  and  arbitress 
of  her  own  actions  that  there  was  no  element  either  of  dis- 
obedience or  concealment  in  the  arrangement  she  had  just 
suggested.  It  was  merely  to  shield  her  father  from  the 
disquietude  and  pain  of  hearing  Robert  Waldron's  name 
spoken  in  any  connection,  that  she  appointed  Lawson's  gar- 
ret as  the  only  place  where  she  could  meet  him.  To  have 
asked  her  father's  opinion  would  have  seemed  utter  foHy 
and  cruelty  to  her.  As  she  spoke,  her  girlish  ignorance 
of  the  world  smote  upon  Robert's  conscience,  but  his  gen- 
erosity was  not  equal  to  the  sacrifice.     He  niust  see  hej 


i/S  iii:sti;r  mori.i'.v's  I'Ro.misk. 

agai'i.  ivhy,  he  scarcely  knew  ;  but  to  forego  the  stolen  and 
prohioited  delight  was  impossible  to  him. 

"I  will  see  you  again  in  a  few  days,"  he  said,  in  a 
measured  voice  which  betrayed  no  emotion. 

He  staid  no  longer,  but  went  away,  leaving  Madame  to 
praise  her  new  and  powerful  patron.  The  old  French- 
woman was  wary,  and  perfectly  comprehended  the  rule 
she  had  to  play.  She  would  keep  his  secret,  and  aid  his 
meeting  with  Hester  to  the  utmost  of  her  power.  To  this 
end  she  maintained  a  careful  silence  about  Robert  Wal- 
dron  to  her  son,  who  never  returned  from  the  workshop 
until  late  in  the  evening,  long  after  Hester  had  gone  home, 
and  when  there  was  no  chance  of  his  visits. 

John  Morley,  in  his  dark  den,  where  he  brooded  over 
his  long,  sad,  selfish  dream  of  sorrow,  had  no  idea  that  his 
daughter  was  in  direct  and  personal  communication  with 
Robert  Waldron.  He  was  receiving  some  very  material 
shocks  to  his  profound  inattention  to  business  ;  for  his 
affairs  were  daily  becoming  more  and  more  involved,  and 
his  creditors  more  pressing.  In  these  troubles  Hester 
had  to  bear  more  than  her  full  share  ;  and  whenever  his 
thoughts  turned  from  their  old  sorrow,  they  had  nothing  to 
occupy  them  but  this  new  one.  It  was  a  relief  to  go  and 
see  the  gay  old  woman,  whose  cheerful  songs  and  laughter 
stirred  her  heart  to  something  of  girlish  merriment ;  and 
Robert  Waldron's  occasional  presence  there  added  another 
interest,  amounting  almost  to  an  attraction,  to  her  visits. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AX   IMPOSSIBILITY. 

Al  he  close  of  the  session  Mr.  Waldron  bade  farewell 
\  his  constituents,  and  resigned  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  It  had  been  his  wish  that  his  son 
should  take  his  place  as  the  champion  of  Nonconformist 
interests  ;  but  it  was  very  well  known  that,  as  yet,  Robert 
Waldron  showed  no  proclivities  towards  Nonconformity  ; 
and  there  was  little  chance  of  his  being  elected  by  the 
borough  which  had  known  and  trusted  his  father  so  long. 
Mr.  Waldron  still  retained  his  mental  vigor,  and  was  dis- 
inclined to  fall  into  the  inactivity  of  old  age ;  but  his 
health  was  breaking,  and  he  was  too  careful  of  his  life  to 
risk  it  any  further  by  his  conscientious  attendance  to  his 
parliamentary  duties.  At  home  he  had  yet  a  post  to  fill 
as  a  landowner,  a  magistrate,  and  a  member  of  the  church 
at  Little  Aston,  where  he  reigned  with  the  absolute  sway 
of  a  despot.  He  settled  down  as  a  country  gentleman 
upon  his  estate  at  Aston  Court,  and  found  it,  upon  the 
whole,  not  unsuited  to  his  taste.  He  had  with  him  his 
two  children.  His  son  was  the  most  affectionate,  his 
daughter  the  most  pious ;  he  hardly  knew  which  occupied 
the  first  place  in  his  heart.  For  Robert,  it  was  now  his 
great  desire  to  find  a  wife  who  would  make  a  home  for 
him,  and  secure  himself  from  the  dread  of  his  son  taking 
flight  once  more.  The  yearning  of  an  old  man  to  see  his 
children's  children  playing  about  his  knees  took  hold  of 


l8o  HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE 

him.  But  it  was  a  question  whether  a  husband  of  suffi- 
ciently eminent  piety  could  be  discovered  for  Miss  Wal- 
dron,  who  was  already  approaching  a  doubtful  age,  and 
had  not  yet  seen  any  one  who  was,  in  all  respects,  worthy 
of  a  Miss  Waldron.  In  furtherance  of  his  own  growing 
desire,  Mr.  Waldron  urged  Robert  to  think  seriously  of 
marriage  ;  but  when  he  replied  by  a  request  that  his  father 
would  name  the  lady  whom  he  would  most  willingly  re- 
ceive as  his  daughter-in-law,  with  a  promise  that  he  would 
then  consider  the  matter,  Mr.  Waldron  was  at  a  loss.  He 
ran  over  in  his  mind  all  the  marriageable  ladies  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  found  none  that  quite  accorded  with 
his  own  views. 

"You  ought  to  choose  for  yourself,  Robert,"  he  said, 
with  a  little  ill-humor. 

"  I  have  no  choice,"  answered  his  son,  meekly. 

"  Robert,"  he  exclaimed  the  next  Sunday  night,  after 
his  return  from  the  chapel,  where  he  had  refreshed  him- 
self during  the  singing  of  the  hymns  with  regarding  Hes- 
ter's sweet,  devout  face  ;  "  Robert,  if  the  thing  were  not 
utterly  impossible,  I  would  rather  have  Hester  Morley 
for  my  daughter-in-law,  than  any  other  woman  in  the 
world." 

Mr.  Waldron  deceived  himself.  It  was  this  very 
impossibility  which  made  it  possible  for  him  to  think  of 
the  bookseller's  daughter  as  his  son's  wife.  A  good  deal 
of  the  natural  pride  of  rank  was  subdued  in  him,  but  it 
was  not  altogether  cast  out.  Robert  Waldron's  ears  tin- 
gled at  the  sound  of  this  name  uttered  in  such  a  connec- 
tion ;  but  he  made  no  reply.  It  was,  of  course,  a  secret 
to  his  father  that  he  had  ever  seen  Hester  for  himself 

"  She  is  exactly  the  creature  that  would  have  suited 
you,"  pursued  Mr.  Waldron, — "  lovely,  refined,  and  mod- 
est ;  pious,  too.  for  she  is  soon  to  become  a  member  of  the 


AX    IMPOSSIBILITY.  iSl 

church.  You  are  satisfied  with  Hester  Morley's  state  of 
mind  ;  are  you  not,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Not  altogether,"  rej^lied  MissWaldron  ;  "  she  is  not 
open  enough  for  me.  I  sometimes  fear  lest  the  root  of 
the  matter  is  not  in  her.  But  why  are  you  talking  about 
Hester  Morley  to  Robert?"  MissWaldron  had  but  just 
entered  the  room,  and  her  father  shrank  from  communi- 
cating to  her  his  first  frank  and  inconsiderate  utterance. 

"  I  was  merely  alluding  to  her,"  he  answered  evasively. 

But,  after  this  night,  Mr.  Waldron's  mind  often  re- 
verted to  Hester.  He  looked  into  his  own  heart,  and 
found  that  he  had  never  given  to  any  being,  out  of  his  own 
family,  the  love  he  felt  for  her.  As  for  Robert,  he  set 
before  himself  the  impossibility,  the  insurmountable  obsta- 
cle, and  gazed  at  it,  and  pondered  over  it,  till  it  grew 
slowly  less  impossible  and  less  insurmountable.  He  re- 
solved to  conquer  it.  The  impenetrable  barrier  which  lay 
between  them  should  be  removed.  The  deadly  hatred  of 
John  Morley, — and  he  had  every  reason  to  believe  his 
hatred  to  be  deadly, — must  be  overcome.  Hester's  own 
heart,  still  free,  and  given  neither  to  Grant  nor  himself, 
had  to  be  won.  It  seemed,  on  the  whole,  as  if  he  had  very 
much  in  his  favor, — wealth,  rank,  good  looks,  refinement, 
and  cultivation.  He  would  set  them  all  against  the  accus- 
ing memory  that  rose  against  him.  By  lifting  Hester  so 
far  above  her  station,  the  wrong  would  be,  in  part,  bal- 
anced which  had  dragged  down  Rose  into  depths  far  below 
hers. 

The  idea  of  the  honor  proposed  for  her  never  dawned 
upon  Hester.  Her  interviews  with  Robert  Waldron  were 
not  clandestine  to  her,  as  they  would  have  been  to  any 
other  girl.  There  was  no  one  to  inquire  where  she  went 
or  whom  she  saw  ;  no  one  to  whom  she  was  in  any  way 
bound   to  give   an   account  of  her   actions.     She  would 


(82  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

almost  rather  have  died  than  have  mentioned  Robert 
Waldron's  name  to  her  father.  But,  for  herself,  she  did 
not  shrink  from  seeing  him  and  conversmg  with  him. 
There  was  an  old  childish  tenderness  lurking  still  in  her 
heart,  which  wrapped  about  him  and  Rose,  as  about  two 
beings  who  had  made  the  brightest  interval  of  her  young 
life.  Her  knowledge  of  their  sin  was  vague ;  and  a 
thickly-woven  veil  of  forgiveness  wrought  through  the  long 
years  was  thrown  over  it  by  her.  But  the  very  purity  and 
intensity  of  her  forgiveness  protected  her.  She  had  never 
thought  of  love  ;  and  the  thought  did  not  awaken  at  any 
touch  of  Robert  Waldron's. 

It  seemed  as  if  Hester  was  just  now  brought  into  more 
close  and  frequent  contact  with  the  Waldrons.  Miss  Wal- 
dron  organized  anew  her  meetings  for  the  female  members 
of  the  church,  and  quite  naturally  Hester  became  a 
regular  attendant  at  them.  She  was  then  constantly  asso- 
ciating with  her  former  teacher  and  patroness  ;  and  though 
Miss  Waldron  was  not  a  whit  less  patronizing  than  when 
she  was  a  child,  she  had  grown  up  to  it  and  thought  of  it 
only  as  "  Miss  Waldron's  way."  As  to  Mr.  Waldron,  she 
saw  him  often  at  chapel,  and  he  always  smiled  upon  her 
with  a  look  of  admiration,  amounting  to  affection,  as  she 
accompanied  her  grey-bearded  father  along  the  chapel 
aisle.  "  If  it  had  only  been  possible,"  he  thought  each 
time,  "  how  gladly  1  would  have  welcomed  her  as  my  son's 
wife." 

Though  Mr.  Waldron  was  now  a  great  man,  he  could 
look  back  upon  his  early  days  when  he  had  been  used  to 
visit  his  grandfather,  the  tenant  of  a  small  and  poor  farm, 
holding  a  position  not  much  higher  than  an  agricultural 
laborer.  He  was  not  a  man  to  ignore  or  despise  his  own 
lowly  origin,  though  his  daughter  did  both  ;  while  Robert 
was  so   well   content  with   his  present  position  as  to  be 


AX    IMPOSSIBILITY.  I83 

indifferent  to  that  which  had  been  his  grandfather's  and 
great-grandfather's.  Certainly,  Mr.  Waldron  had  desired 
him  to  marry  into  a  good  family  ;  but  if  that  could  not  be, 
there  was  nothing  in  the  circumstances  of  Hester's  father, 
as  far  as  regarded  his  birth  and  character,  which  would 
render  her  an  un.s'jkable  wife  for  his  son.  Two  genera- 
tions back  !t  wouid  have  been  John  Morley  who  would 
have  been  visited  with  scruples  as  to  the  fitness  of  such  a 
marriage. 


CHAPTER  XXVll. 

CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR. 

NOW  that  Mr.  Waldron  had  no  other  interests  to 
engage  him,  he  had  leisure  to  give  his  whole  atten- 
tion to  the  affairs  of  the  church  ;  and  he  soon  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  great  age  and  growing  infirmities  of 
its  old  pastor  demanded  some  efficient  assistance  in  the 
performance  of  his  duties.  Since  John  Morley  had  with- 
drawn from  all  active  participation  in  church  matters,  the 
whole  power  and  influence  had  fallen  naturally  into  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Waldron,  who  ruled  without  a  voice  being 
raised  against  him,  or  even  a  whispered  murmur  among 
his  brethren,  who  looked  up  to  him  from  afar  off  as  to  one 
who  had  an  unquestionable  authority.  When,  therefore, 
he  proposed,  in  a  church-meeting  assembled  especially  for 
the  purpose,  that  a  colleague  should  be  elected  for  Mr. 
Watson,  adding,  in  a  business-like  manner,  that  he  would 
pay  him  a  salary  from  his  own  pocket,  and  not  trouble  the 
church  with  that  charge,  the  proposition  was  carried  unani- 
mously, and  with  applause  ;  and  the  choice  of  the  co-pastor 
was  entrusted  solely  to  him.  Not  solely  to  Mr.  Waldron, 
however.  It  was. an  all-important  charge,  and  Miss  Wal- 
dron felt  that  the  chief  responsibility  rested  upon  her 
devoted  shoulders,  which  bore  some  cross  perpetually.  In 
fact  the  church  at  Little  Aston  was  governed  by  her 
through  her  father,  though  perhaps  unconsciously  so  to 
him.     She  made   the   choice  of  a  colleague  a  subject  of 


CASTLES    IX    THE    AIR.  1 8$ 

prayer  in  all  her  meetings,  and  of  very  anxious  thought  in 
her  own  closet,  which  was  a  handsome  and  luxuriously 
furnished  dressing-room,  where  she  could  meditate  for 
hours  without  risk  of  intrusion.  It  would  not  do  to  have 
a  married  minister,  who  might  be  under  the  legitimate 
domination  of  a  wife  ;  yet  a  young  pastor  was  a  somewhat 
dangerous  creature  to  let  loose  in  her  fold  of  lambs.  She 
balanced  the  disadvantages  of  both  states  with  the  most 
profound  solicitude,  but  at  length  decided  in  favor  of  a 
young  minister,  who  should  be  entirely  free  from  female 
influence  ;  the  more  so  as  she  did  not  shrink  from  the 
necessity  of  keeping  a  more  vigilant  oversight  of  her  own 
part  of  the  flock.  This  decision  was  communicated  to  her 
father,  but  represented  under  quite  a  different  phase  ;  and 
Mr.  Waldron  agreed  with  her,  that  they  might  do  some 
untried  but  devoted  young  man  an  untold  good,  by  intro- 
ducing him  into  the  ministry  under  their  patronage. 

Not  many  days  afterwards,  Mr,  and  Miss  Waldron 
found  themselves  at  the  entrance  of  a  college,  where  the 
young  ministers  of  their  denomination  were  in  training  for 
the  future  discharge  of  the  duties  belonging  to  their  ofifice. 
It  was  a  large,  modern  building  in  the  suburbs  of  a  busy 
manufacturing  town,  the  distant  hum  of  which  blended 
with  the  quiet  of  a  place  of  study.  Of  course  it  possessed 
none  of  the  venerable  associations  of  ancient  colleges ; 
but  there  was  a  sober  air  of  respectability  and  steady 
work  about  it,  not  altogether  unlike  the  factories  of  the 
neighboring  town.  Miss  Waldron  appeared  to  be  in  her 
proper  element — to  breathe  her  native  air.  No  romance 
clustered  about  the  place,  but  there  was  the  clear  fact  of 
seventy  or  eighty  students  wrestling  from  morning  till 
night,  and  possibly  from  night  till  morning  again,  with 
those  knotty  problems  of  doctrine  which  exercised  her 
own  spirit.     An   atmosphere  of  controversy  was   wafted 


l86  IIESTKR    MORLKV's    PROMISK. 

through  the  long  corridors,  into  which  study-doors  opened 
on  each  side  in  regular  ranks.  A  murmur  of  theological 
discussion,  perceptible  only  to  fine  ears,  breathed  in  the 
quiet  air.  Again  Miss  Waldron  felt  that,  by  having  been 
born  a  woman,  she  had  missed  her  avocation.  Here  was 
her  true  home,  and  the  pulpit  was  her  sphere. 

The  president  of  the  college,  the  Rev.  James  Harvey, 
D.  D.,  received  the  ex-member  of  parliament  and  his 
daughter,  with  a  mingled  deference  and  dignity  due  to 
their  position  and  his  own.  They  were  old  acquaintances, 
and  could  dispense  with  some  of  the  formalities  of 
strangers  ;  so  that  Mr.  Waldron  quickly  opened  to  him 
the  mission  he  had  come  upon,  in  behalf  of  the  church  at 
Little  Aston. 

"  I  do  not  promise  that  it  shall  be  a  very  great  thing 
for  a  young  man,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  ask  no  assistance 
from  the  church.  I  do  not  think  of  offering  a  salary  of 
more  than  a  hundred  a  year,  until  I  see  how  he  suits  me. 
But  it  will  be  an  opening,  and  most  probably  would  be 
ihe  stepping-stone  to  another  and  wealthier  church.  A 
)^oung  minister,  with  my  influence,  might  obtain  a  good 
charge  in  a  year  or  two.'' 

"  No  doubt,  no  .doubt,  Mr.  Waldron,"  replied  Dr.  Har- 
/ey. 

"  We  require,''  said  Miss  Waldron,  thinking  it  was  time 
for  her  to  speak,  "  a  young  man  of  eminent  piety,  who 
will  have  no  thought  except  for  souls.  He  must  be  an  in- 
teresting preacher,  with  a  pleasant  voice  and  choice  lan- 
guage, but  above  all,  sound  in  doctrine.  We  want  no  Ger- 
man neology  among  us.  We  should  like  one,  too,  who 
could  make  himself  a  pleasing  companion  to  my  poor 
brother,  who  is  still  in  the  bondage  of  sin — one  who 
would  exert  a  wholesome  influence  over  him  ;  and  as  Rob 
ert  is  exceedinglv  fastidious,  it  is  esser.tial  that  he  should 


CASTLES   IX   THE   AIR.  1 87 

be  a  gentleman,  Dr.  Harvey.  It  is  still  more  important 
that  he  should  not  be  self-willed  and  opinionative  ;  though 
he  must  not  be  weak  minded,  or  he  will  soon  fall  into  the 
usual  follies  of  a  3-oung  pastor.  He  must  be  one  who  will 
look  to  us  for  guidance  and  companionship ;  and  who 
could  visit  at  Aston  Court  upon  suitable  terms." 

The  last  sentence  was  a  little  vague,  and  a  young  pas- 
tor might  reasonably  have  demanded  a  definition  of  the 
words  "  suitable  terms."  But  Doctor  Harvey  bowed  low 
to  Miss  Waldron,  and  remarked,  that  it  would  be  a  singu- 
lar advantage  to  any  young  man.  He  mused  for  some 
minutes,  with  his  pen  upon  his  lips,  as  if  he  were  passing 
his  seventy  students  in  review  before  his  mind's  eye.  His 
aspect  remained  grave  and  calculating ;  but  presently  it 
brightened,  and  he  nodded  his  head  assentingiy  to  his  own 
thoughts. 

"  I  have  two  of  our  young  men  in  my  eye  at  this  mo- 
ment," he  said,  "  either  of  whom  might  do  well  for  you,  if 
you  could  assure  them  leisure  to  complete  their  course  of 
study  at  Little  Aston." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Miss  Waldron  ;  "  we  have  a  com- 
plete library,  which  shall  be  at  their  disposal ;  and  I  should 
myself  take  great  interest  in  their  studies." 

"  There  is  David  Scott,"  pursued  Dr.  Harvey,  "  a  fine 
logical  and  analytical  mind,  with  the  true  ring  of  Calvin  in 
it ;  pure  gold,  sir,  but  a  little  unrefined  as  yet.  And 
there  is  Carl  Bramwell.  You  recollect  Charles  Bramwell, 
our  minister  at  Park  Lane  Chapel,  and  his  father,  old  John 
Bramwell  ?  They  are  the  father  and  grandfather  of  this 
young  man.  A  good  lineage,  and  a  young  fellow  of  great 
promise,  but  a  little  too  much  inclined  to  be  speculative, 
5f  he  has  a  fault.  It  would  be  the  making  of  either  of 
them  to  be  under  your  eye  for  a  year  or  two.     We  will  go 


1 88  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

and  visit  them  both  in  their  studies,  if  you  do  not  mind  the 
trouble." 

Neither  of  them  minded  the  trouble,  and  they  rose  to 
accompany  the  Doctor  with  alacrity.  The  profound  tran- 
quillity of  the  place,  and  the  associations  connected  with 
it,  brought  an  unusual  thrill  of  excitement  to  Miss  Waldron. 
She  trod  with  a  quicker  step,  and  spoke  in  a  lower  key,  as 
they  passed  by,  one  after  another,  the  closed  doors.  At 
length  Doctor  Harvey  paused  at  one,  and  turning  to  her, 
said,  "  David  Scott,"  as  he  knocked  a  sounding  knock 
upon  the  panel,  and  waited  for  a  moment  to  hear  the 
words  "  come  in." 

"  He  is  a  trifle  deaf,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  a  fine  fel- 
low." 

Miss  Waldron  felt  a  chill,  which  was  not  removed  by 
the  appearance  of  the  student,  a  gaunt,  awkward,  ill-dress- 
ed lad  from  Scotland,  who  stared  at  her  with  embarrass- 
ment, and  was  hardly  able  to  respond  coherently  to  the 
observations  made  to  him  by  Doctor  Harvey.  Their  visit 
lasted  but  a  few  minutes  ;  and  Miss  Waldron  left  the  study 
with  a  painful  sense  of  discouragement 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  not  do  for  us  at  all,"  she  said, 
plaintively. 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  him  first  in  the  pulpit,"  re- 
plied Doctor  Harvey ;  "  he  is  quite  another  being  there, 
and  handles  his  subject  like  a  master.  He  will  make  a 
mark  in  the  world  by-and-by,  I  can  assure  you.  But  this 
is  Carl  BramwelTs  room." 

The  doctor  knocked  lightly,  but  received  no  answer. 
There  was  an  unbroken  silence  within  the  study.  Miss 
Waldron's  spirits  sank  yet  lower  ;  she  felt  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. 

"  Bramwell  must  be  absent,  '  said  the  doctor;  "  but  we 
vvill  just  look  in,  and  see  his  books." 


CASTLES    IN   THE    AIR.  1 89 

The  young  student  was  absent,  but  only  in  the  sense 
of  being  absent  in  mind.  He  was  seated  on  the  low, 
broad  window-sill,  so  absorbed  in  the  study  of  a  book 
which  rested  upon  his  knees,  that  he  had  neither  heard  the 
knock,  nor  the  opening  of  the  door.  Miss  Waldron  had- 
time  to  give  him  a  lightning  glance  of  criticism,  and  her 
heart  leaped  with  joy,  which  sent  the  warm  blood  to  her 
face.  His  features  were  of  those  which  come  from  a  long 
line  of  thoughtful  and  educated  men  :  the  fine,  thin,  spir- 
itual face  of  a  born  scholar,  scarcely  concealing  the  ardor 
with  which  his  mind  w-as  now  busily  at  work  over  some 
favorite  study.  He  was  young,  certainly  not  more  than 
four-and-twenty,  and  his  figure  was  slight  and  delicate. 
Just  now  the  sun  shone  aslant  upon  his  head,  and  displa}-- 
ed  a  profile  of  perfect  regularity,  with  the  lips  upon  the 
point  of  parting  with  a  smile  of  keen  intellectual  delight. 
Miss  Waldron  had  found  the  goodly  pearl  she  had  been 
seeking. 

"  Mr.  Bramwell,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  shoulder  of  the  student,  who  started  from  his  abstrac- 
tion with  a  fine  glow  upon  his  face,  "I  knocked,  and  as 
you  gave  no  answer  I  thought  your  room  was  vacant,  and 
I  took  the  liberty  of  introducing  some  friends  to  it,  as  the 
best  in  the  college.     Miss  Waldron  and  Mr.  Waldron." 

The  well-known  name  carried  no  awe  with  it  to  the 
spirit  of  the  young  man,  but  he  saluted  the  patron  of  the 
college  and  his  daughter  with  an  air  of  well-bred  respect 
and  welcome.  He  stepped  aside  for  them  to  admire  the 
view  from  his  window  ;  and  when  either  of  them  addressed 
him,  he  answered  freely  but  modestly. 

"My  time  here  is  nearly  finished,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  a  question  of  Miss  Waldron's.  "  I  shall  have  been  in 
college  three  years,  and  shall  have  completed  my  course 
of  studj ,  so  far.     It  has  been  a  happy  time  to  me." 


fgO  -  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"  Have  you  any  church  in  prospect  ? "  she  inquired, 
with  a  palpitating  heart. 

"  Not  yet,"'  he  answered,  smiling,  "  but  T  am  not  anx- 
ious about  it.  The  doctor  has  promised  to  interest  him- 
self for  me  when  my  time  is  up." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  give  up  the  four  or  five 
months  still  belonging  to  you,  and  take  a  charge  at 
once } "  inquired  Doctor  Harvey  ;  and  Miss  Waldron  felt 
strangely  disquieted  as  the  student  hesitated  before  re- 
plying. 

"I  would  rather  not,"  he  said,  "but  I  would  be  gov- 
erned by  your  advice.  My  examination  in  the  London 
University  will  come  off  in  six  months  or  so,  but  I  am 
pretty  well  prepared  for  it  already.  If  you  bade  me  go, 
Doctor,  I  would  go." 

"  Would  you  object  to  a  small  country  church  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Waldron,  more  anxious  than  ever  to  secure  him. 

"  Not  at  all,''  he  said,  "  especially  for  my  first  charge." 

"Nor  to  a  co-pastorate  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  My  colleague  and  I  would  both  have  to  prove  whether 
we  suited  one  another,"  he  answered. 

"  Have  you  any  mother  or  sister,  who  would  wish  to 
live  with  you  ? "  a»ked  Miss  Waldron,  afraid  that  she 
should  not  secure  him  free  from  female  influence. 

"  I  have  one  only  sister,"  answered  Carl,  smiling  again, 
"  and  she  is  about  to  be  married  soon  to  a  young  surgeon 
of  the  name  of  Grant,  who  is  settled  at  Little  Aston,  near 
your  residence." 

"  We  know  him  well,"  she  replied,  graciously.  "  So 
your  sister  is  going  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Grant.  Father, 
1  am  sure  we  may  open  our  proposal  to  Mr.  Bramwell. 
His  sister's  residence  at  Little  Aston  would  be  an  induce- 
ment to  him  to  come  to  us." 

Carl's   face    kindled    and    flushed    as  he  instinctivply 


CASTLES   IN   THE    AIR.  I9I 

caught  at  the  meaning  of  Miss  Waldron's  words.  To  live 
for  some  years  near  to  his  sister  and  his  friend,  appeared 
the  height  of  human  happiness  to  him,  who  had  so  often 
vainly  longed  for  a  home  and  domestic  pleasures.  With  a 
small  and  pure  church,  into  which  no  maxims  or  principles 
of  the  world  could  find  an  entry ;  with  a  pleasant  home  in 
his  sister's  house,  and  the  companionship  of  the  two  rel- 
atives dearest  to  him  upon  earth — he  could  have  no  desire 
of  his  heart  ungratified.  He  heard  Mr.  Waldron  and  Doc- 
tor Harvey  discoursing,  but  he  hardly  understood  them. 
All  he  was  sure  of  at  the  close  of  the  interview  was  that  a 
co-pastorate  at  Little  Aston  had  been  offered  to  him,  and 
that  his  almost  monastic  study  had  been  visited  by  a  being 
who  had  looked  at  him  with  a  gracious  and  pleasant  smile, 
and  spoken  to  him  in  a  voice  set  to  a  softer  key  than  the 
rough,  masculine  tones  of  his  fellow-students. 

Carl  Bramwell  would  have  given  his  answer  at  once, 
but  his  cautious  seniors  insisted  upon  his  taking  a  week  to 
consider  it.  He  received  two  letters  of  ecstasy  from 
Grant  and  his  sister.  Their  marriage  was  to  take  place 
in  a  few  weeks,  after  which  he  was  to  have  his  home  with 
them.  Until  that  event  he  was  invited  to  stay  at  Aston 
Court  itself,  to  be  introduced  under  Mr.  Waldron's 
auspices  to  the  church,  and  to  be  initiated  by  him  and  Miss 
Waldron  in  the  onerous  duties  of  a  pastor. 

It  had  occurred  to  Mr.  Waldron,  in  connection  with 
their  choice  of  this  young  student,  that  nowhere  could  be 
found  a  more  suitable  match  for  his  little  favorite,  Hester. 
The  red-haired  Scotchman  he  had  rejected  in  his  own 
mind  the  moment  he  saw  him  ;  but  Carl  Bramwell  was 
certainly  born  for  Hester,  and  she  for  him.  He  pleased 
himself  with  building  a  few  castles  in  the  air,  for  even 
elderly  men  will  be  guilty  of  this  folly  at  times,  and  when 
Carl  came,  he  received  him  with  an  effusion  of  welcome. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  FIRST   CHARGE. 

CARL  BRAMWELL  quitted  his  calm  student-life 
with  a  natural  feeling  of  regret,  but  also  with  a  glo-w 
of  enthusiasm  at  the  first  view  of  the  wide  stream  of 
human  interests,  with  its  restless  tides,  which  was  about 
to  bear  him  he  knew  not-  whither.  He  went  through  all 
the  usual  emotions  and  sensations  of  one  who  is  bidding 
adieu  finally  to  the  tranquillity  of  boyhood  and  study  ;  but 
on  the  other  hand  he  felt  very  intensely  the  fact  that  life 
was  beginning  for  him  in  earnest,  and  he  held  his  head 
erect  with  a  new  sense  of  dignity  and  responsibility.  He 
was  about  to  take  upon  his  own  soul  the  care  of  other 
souls.  An  unutterable  and  solemn  tenderness  filled  his 
heart  as  he  thought  of  these  human  spirits,  frail,  wavering 
between  evil  and  good,  tempted,  sad,  palpitating  with  the 
first  germs  of  immortality  planted  in  the  midst  of  many 
thorns.  He  prepared  his  heart  beforehand  for  the  love, 
half  that  of  a  mother,  which  a  true  pastor  should  feel  for 
his  church.  How  he  would  study  his  people  !  how  he 
would  watch  over  them  !  how  quietly  he  would  root  up 
the  choking  thorns,  and  let  the  free  air  and  sunshine  play 
about  the  young  buds  of  divine  grace  !  This  life,  with  its 
long  hot  days  and  weary  weeks  of  labor,  would  be  a 
hundredfold  more  worthy  of  a  man  than  the  serene  ego- 
tism of  a  study. 

There  were   other  considerations   which   Carl's  chival- 


A    FIRST   CHARGE.  Ic»3 

rous  ardor  disdained  to  take  account  of.  In  the  college 
he  had  been  only  one  of  seventy,  each  of  whom  had  an 
equal  claim  to  the  attention  bestowed  upon  them.  He 
had  had  but  the  seventieth  share  of  a  pulpit.  He  had 
lived  in  a  mass  ;  been  spoken  to,  looked  at,  fed,  and 
generally  cared  for,  as  only  an  item  in  a  large  sum  total. 
Now  he  was  about  to  become  the  chief  person  in  a  circle, 
which,  however  small  and  contracted,  would  invest  every 
word  and  action  of  his  with  importance  and  meaning.  In 
a  small  church  the  pastor  is  even  more  an  individual  set 
apart  than  in  the  churches  of  great  towns.  Every  one  of 
his  scanty  congregation  would  have  a  lively  and  minute 
interest  in  him  personally. 

Of  this  future  church  of  his,  Carl  knew  two  persons 
exceedingly  well  by  report,  and  had  for  some  months 
taken  an  almost  extravagant  concern  in  them.  Grant  had 
written  often  about  John  Morley  and  Hester,  and  Carl's 
interest  had  been  keenly  exxited.  Now  that  he  was  on 
the  point  of  being  brought  into  so  intimate  a  relationship 
with  them,  he  read  over  again  the  letters  which  had  put 
him  into  possession  of  so  much  of  their  history  ;  he  found 
himself  about  to  enter  upon  the  stage  of  one  of  those 
romantic  incidents  which  now  and  then  are  acted  before 
us  on  our  journey  through  life. 

He  met  with  a  very  cordial  welcome  at  Aston  Court, 
and  was  more  impressed  and  affected  than  he  was  himself 
aware  of  by  the  suddenness  of  the  change  from  the  bare- 
ness and  inelegance  of  his  college  to  the  wealthy  luxury 
of  Mr.  Waldron's  mansion.  All  about  him  suited  his 
somewhat  delicate  temperament,  and  chimed  in  with  a 
somewhat  hereditary  refinement  of  taste.  Robert  Wal- 
dron  seemed  to  him  a  finished  gentleman  ;  and  even  Miss 
Waldron,  to  a  young  man  who  had  known  nothing  of 
female  society  during  many  years,  appeared  pleasing  and 
9 


194  HESTER    MOR.-EV'S    PROMISE. 

graceful.  She  had  considerably  modified  her  early  rigor 
on  the  subject  of  dress,  and  assumed  her  dingy  brown 
costume  and  unbecoming  bonnet  only  when  engaged  in 
leligious  services.  At  home,  and  especially  during  the 
present  epoch,  she  chose  pretty  colors  and  soft  materials ; 
and  even  condescended  to  employ  a  number  of  worldly 
artifices  for  disguising  the  ravages  of  time. 

Yet  towards  Carl  she  adopted  the  tone  of  an  elder  sis- 
ter, assuming  a  few  years  of  seniority  ;  in  some  degree  the 
most  flattering  and  most  beguiling  manner  of  administering 
to  a  young  man's  self-love.  He  was  very  soon  persuaded  that 
Miss  Waldron  was  one  of  the  most  charming,  as  well  as 
the  most  saintly,  women  of  her  times ;  only  a  grade  or  two 
below  the  perfection  she  sought  to  attain  to.  For  she  had 
confided  to  him,  also,  that  the  sole  object  of  her  life  was 
her  own  sanctification,  and  the  welfare  of  her  perishing 
fellow-creatures. 

Robert  Waldron  was  uneasy  about  this  new  protege,  of 
his  sister's,  with  a  sharp  jealousy  of  his  ten  years'  juniority, 
and  the  freshness  of  his  manhood,  which  still  wore  the 
glory  and  brightness  of  a  morning  without  clouds.  The 
first  moment  in  which  his  eye  fell  upon  the  clear-cut  feat 
ures,  and  the  scholarly  refinement  of  the  young  pastor'r 
face,  and  his  ears  heard  the  pleasant  and  pure  utterance 
of  his  voice,  he  had  instinctively,  and  with  a  tremor  of  dis- 
may, pictured  to  himself  Hester  sitting  in  her  seat  at 
chapel,  with  her  sweet,  pale  face,  and  her  grey  eyes,  with 
the  soul  shining  through  them,  lifted  up  in  wrapt  attention 
to  the  preacher's  words.  He  hoped  ardently  that  he  was 
a  fool,  and  he  tested  him.  But  Carl  was  no  fool ;  his 
mind  was  vigorous  and  cultivated,  and  his  tact  wonderful 
for  a  mere  student.  It  was  true  that  upon  many  points  he 
was  ignorant  of  the  world's  customs  and  usages  ;  but  his 
very  ignorance  was  a  charm  ;  it  was   the  pure  innocence 


A    FIRST   CHARGE.  I95 

of  a  soul  which  had  never  looked  into  the  muddy  depths 
of  worldly  ways.  Robert  could  not  help  but  like  him  ; 
yet  he  would  gladly  have  sacrificed  half  his  fortune  to 
prevent  Carl  Bramwell  becoming  the  co-pastor  of  the 
insignificant  church  at  Little  Aston.  But  fate  and  Miss 
Waldron  were  too  strong  for  him. 

It  was  well  for  Robert's  peace  of  mind  that  he  did  not 
happen  to  be  present  at  a  short  conversation  which  had 
taken  place  a  morning  or  two  after  Carl's  arrival.  The 
appointed  time  for  introducing  him  to  his  future  charge  at 
a  church-meeting  was  drawing  near;  but  until  then,  Miss 
Waldron  had  guarded  her  new  acquisition  from  the  intru- 
sion of  any  unseasonable  visitor.  This  evening  he  was  to 
be  received  as  co-partner  with  Mr.  Watson  in  the  presence 
of  the  assembled  church  ;  but  early  in  the  day  a  messen- 
ger arrived 'to  say  that  the  old  minister  was  seized  with  an 
alarming  access  of  his  illness,  and  could  not  by  any  possi- 
bility leave  his  own  chamber. 

"  The  meeting  must  proceed  as  arranged,"  said  Miss 
Waldron,  decisively.  "There  will  be  the  more  necessity 
for  it,  as  Mr.  Bramwell  must  at  once  take  upon  himself 
the  duties  of  the  pastorate." 

"  And  Hester  Morley  was  to  have  been  received  into 
the  church,"  observed  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  So  she  was !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Waldron,  with  a  pause 
of  deliberation  ;  "  what  is  to  be  done  now,  father  ? " 

Carl  had  heard  this  name  spoken  for  the  first  time 
with  a  quickened  pulse  and  more  attentive  ear ;  but  he 
waited  a  moment  or  two  for  Mr.  Waldron's  answer,  which 
did  not  come. 

"Who  is  Hester  Morley?"  he  asked,  with  a  slight 
hesitation  in  his  manner,  which  escaped  Miss  Waldron's 
not  very  keen  observation.  It  needed  a  very  cbvious 
emotion  to  be  manifest  to  her  rather  dull  sensibility. 


196  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

*'  She  is  a  young  girl  in  my  Bible-class,"  she  replied, 
with  an  air  of  humility,  "  over  whom  I  have  watched  most 
anxiously.  She  is  little  more  than  a  child,  and  worse  than 
motherless.  But  that  is  a  painful  topic  to  us  all.  Mr. 
Waldron  was  to  have  given  her  the  right  hand  of  fellow- 
ship to-night,  as  next  Sabbath  is  the  ordinance." 

"  But  cannot  Mr.  Bramwell  receive  her  into  the 
church  ? "  suggested  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  I  think  not,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  Hester  is  very 
much  attached  to  Mr.  Watson,  and  he  to  her.  It  would 
be  unkind  to  him.     No,  no.     That  will  not  do." 

"I  will  see  Mr.  Watson  and  Hester  in  the  course  of 
the  day,"  said  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  No,  no,"  she  urged,  in  a  peremptory  tone  ;  "  it  would 
divide  the  interest,  and  confuse  Mr.  Bramwell's  thoughts, 
which  should  be  centred  on  his  own  solemn  obligations. 
Hester  must  wait." 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  her  and  of  her  father  from 
Grant,"  said  Carl,  still  speaking  shyly,  and  glancing  about 
him  to  see  if  Robert  was  anywhere  within  hearing. 
"They  must  be  among  the  most  interesting  people  in  our 
church." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  rather 
sharply.  "  I  think  John  Morley  no  more  a  Christian  than 
any  benighted  heathen  in  foreign  lands  ;  indeed,  in  my 
opinion,  he  is  worse.  Hester  is  a  white-faced,  thin,  over- 
grown girl,  with  very  little  to  say  for  herself.  We  do  not 
see  very  much  of  either  of  them  ;  for,  of  course,  they  are  in 
quite  a  different  position  from  ours,  and  now  that  Hester 
is  no  longer  a  child,  I  do  not  know  that  it  would  be  well 
for  her  to  visit  here.  I  dare  say  you  will  see  John  Morley 
to-night,  and  if  you  can  bring  him  to  any  better  state  of 
mind,  I  shall  rejoice  greatly.  You  shall  have  my  prayers 
in  this,  as  in  all  your  other  important  duties." 


HIS   ONLY   ENEMY.  19/ 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  smile  of  sympathy 
and  sisterly  interest ;  and  the  young  man  felt  penetrated 
with  a  sense  of  gratitude  to  her.  But  it  could  not  alto- 
gether blot  out  the  thought  of  John  Morley  and  his  daugh- 
ter, and  the  wonder  whether  Hester  would  not  be  admit- 
ted into  the  church  that  evening.  As  Miss  VValdron  had 
predicted,  the  mention  of  it  only  confused  Mr.  Bramweirs 
mind,  which  would  otherwise  have  been  centred  upon  his 
own  solemn  obligations.  He  remembered  how  Grant  had 
once  said  of  John  Morley,  "  He  would  perhaps  show  his 
heart  to  you,  Carl  ;  but  you  will  never  come  across  him." 
Yet  he  was  now  about  to  enter  upon  a  definite  relation- 
ship with  this  very  man,  which  would  give  him  almost  a 
right  to  seek  his  confidence.  As  for  Hester,  he  felt  a  lit- 
tle disappointed  at  the  portrait  Miss  Waldron  had  sketch- 
ed of  her,  and  he  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  different 
colors  in  which  Grant  had  painted  it.  No  doubt  jMiss 
Waldron  was  more  correct  than  Grant.  She  had  seen 
Hester  grow  up  under  her  eyes,  and  had  known  her  face 
well.  It  provoked  him  greatly  that  amid  all  the  solemn 
thoughts  of  this  epoch  in  his  life,  a  shade  of  vexation 
should  come  across  him  as  often  as  the  idea  of  Hester  in- 
truded itself  upon  his  busy  brain. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

IN   SUCCESSION. 

THE  church  at  Little  Aston  was  by  no  means  Carl 
Bramwell's  ideal  church.  With  the  exception  of  the 
Waldrons  and  Morleys,  it  consisted  almost  exclusively  of 
very  ordinary  and  vulgar  persons,  of  little  education  and 
not  over-enlightened  religion.  Their  number  was  not  so 
large  as  that  of  his  fellow-students,  every  one  of  whose 
faces  he  could  read  as  he  preached  to  them.  But  these 
people  looking  at  him  were  his  souls.  Their  eyes  were 
the  open  windows  of  spirits  who  were  to  be  led  by  him. 
A  fine  film  of  tears  threw  a  hazy  glory  over  them.  He 
saw  nothing  of  the  smallness  and  commonness  and  vulgar- 
ity of  this  very  common  church,  some  of  whom  "  served 
God,"  as  Carlyle  says,  "  by  laboriously  selling  a  red  her- 
ring." Carl's  blue  eyes  grew  dim  as  he  sat  at  Mr.  Wal- 
dron's  right  hand  in  a  square  pew  under  the  pulpit  ;  and 
he  felt  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  take  the  care  of  souls. 

He  was  so  wrapt  in  this  enthusiasm,  that  he  neither 
heard  Mr.  Waldron  sjDcak,  nor  the  congregation  rise  tp 
their  feet,  until  a  voice  close  beside  him,  a  voice  soft  and 
sweet  and  clear,  suddenly  rang  through  his  trance  and 
startled  him  as  with  an  electric  shock.  It  was  nothing 
more  than  a  voice  starting  the  tune  for  the  hymn  about  to 
be  sung,  but  Carl  turned  his  head  quickly  to  the  spoi 
whence  it  sounded.  He  could  not  be  mistaken  aS  to  who 
were  the   white-haired  and  sorrow-stricken  man,  and  the 


IX    SUCCESSION.  199 

young  girl  standing  closely  at  his  side  ;  and  his  own  face 
flushed  and  burned  with  an  uncontrollable  emotion  as  he 
caught  the  glance  of  both  their  eyes.  It  was  a  hymn  of 
welcome,  and  he  could  have  wept,  but  for  very  shame- 
facedness,  as  he  listened  to  it. 

His  eyes  were  still  dazzled,  and  his  heart  beating  pain- 
fully, when,  after  Mr.  Waldron  had  said  what  he  had  to 
say  in  introducing  him  to  his  church,  he  was  obliged  to 
stand  up  alone  and  face  his  people,  to  give  utterance  to 
some  of  the  feelings  of  his  heart  towards  them.  He  was 
speaking  with  a  simple  eloquence  and  earnestness,  when 
the  vestry-door  near  to  him  was  opened  softly,  and  his 
friend  Grant  stepped  to  Mr.  VV'aldron's  side,  and  whispered 
something  in  his  ear.  Carl  paused,  and  Mr.  Waldron  ad- 
dressed the  meeting  in  a  hurried  and  trembling  voice. 

"Brethren,"  he  said,  'our  dear  old  pastor,  who  has 
been  very  ill,  as  you  all  know,  is  now  on  the  point  of 
death,  and  he  desires  to  see  his  young  colleague  immedi- 
ately, with  brother  Morley  and  myself.  The  necessity  is 
urgent,  and  we  must  leave  you  at  once.  Let  some  among 
you  engage  in  prayer. 

A  dead  silence  prevailed  while  Carl,  with  Mr.  Waldron 
and  John  Morley,  quitted  the  lighted  chapel  and  plunged 
into  the  darkness  of  the  streets.  To  Carl  it  seemed  more 
like  one  of  the  many  dreams  of  his  student-life  than  the 
sober  reality  that  it  was.  His  ecstasy  of  emotion  was  not 
yet  over  ;  the  voices  which  had  welcomed  him  were  still 
ringing  in  his  ears.  Yet  he  was  here  in  the  unlit  street, 
following  in  silence  as  Mr.  Waldron  walked  before  him, 
and  with  a  second  companion  known  only  to  him  by  his 
melancholy  history.  He  was  going,  too,  to  witness  the 
death  of  an  old  man,  his  co-pastor,  whom  he  had  never 
seen.  It  could  be  only  a  dream.  If  there  were  anything 
real  in   this  night's  experience,  it   was  that   his  ears   had 


200  HESTER   MORLEY  S    PROMISE. 

heard  a  voice  which  would  make  his  heart  restless  till  he 
could  hear  it  again. 

They  soon  reached  the  minister's  little  house,  and  saw 
one  window  brightly  illuminated  by  the  light  which  the 
dulled  eyes  of  the  dying  often  need  as  they  go  down  into 
the  valley  of  darkness.  Carl  shook  off  the  enthralment 
and  bewilderment  of  his  fancies,  and  roused  himself  to  re- 
alize the  scene  he  was  about  to  witness.  Mr.  Waldron 
knocked  gently  at  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  in  an  in- 
stant by  a  woman  who  awaited  their  arrival.  A  line  of 
light  fell  down  the  little  garden  they  crossed ;  and  for  the 
first  time  Carl  became  aware  that  Grant  was  following 
them,  and  with  him  a  slight  girlish  figure  whose  face  was 
veiled. 

He  had  not  time  to  see  more,  for  Mr.  Waldron  and 
John  Morley  had  gone  on,  and  were  already  ascending  the 
staircase.  The  chamber  into  which  they  entered  was 
barely  and  scantily  furnished,  except  with  books,  for  it  had 
evidently  been  the  study  of  the  dying  man,  as  well  as  his 
bedroom.  Their  footsteps  sounded  loudly  as  they  trode 
across  the  bare  and  creaking  boards.  The  curtains  of  fa- 
ded chintz  were  drawn  back  from  the  bed,  and  the  old 
minister's  palsied  head,  propped  up  with  pillows,  was 
turned  anxiously  towards  them.  He  fastened  his  glaz- 
ing eyes  upon  Carl ;  and  the  two  other  men  also  turned 
their  gaze  instinctively  upon  him.  Mr  Waldron,  in  his 
hale  and  hearty  old  age,  which  as  yet  was  only  grey  with 
the  coming  shadow  ;  and  John  Morley  with  his  air  of  a 
century  of  suffering,  which  caused  him  to  equal  the  dying 
man  in  his  burden  of  years.  These  three  old  men  faced 
him,  and  looked  upon  his  youth  with  profound  interest. 
Again  he  felt  himself  in  a  dream,  and  the  silenco  grew 
intolerable   to   him.     It   was   broken   by   the  old   pastoi 


IN   SUCCESSION.  20I 

Stretching  out  his  withered  and  shaking  hand  to  him,  and 
breathing  the  word,  "Brother." 

The  single  word  spoken  in  the  thin  and  labored  voice 
of  death,  possessed  a  peculiar  pathos,  linking  as  it  did  the 
old  man  who  was  putting  off  his  mortality,  with  his  young 
successor  rich  in  vigorous  life.  An  eternal  brotherhood 
linked  all  men  together  in  an  unbroken  chain  with  the 
Divine  Elder  Brother,  of  whom  they  were  both  ambassa- 
dors. Carl's  eyes  grew  clear,  and  shone  with  the  kindling 
of  a  chivalrous  enthusiasm  upon  the  three  aged  men  who 
confronted  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  grasping  the  chilly  and  wrinkled  hand 
of  the  dying  man  in  his  own,  "I  am  your  brother;  and  I  am 
ready  to  take  up  your  work  when  you  lay  it  down.  What 
is  it  you  will  have  me  do  ?  I  have  many  years  to  live  and 
work  in  yet." 

"  There  is  Hester  standing  behind  you,"  answered  Mr. 
Watson. 

She  had  glided  in  with  her  noiseless  step,  and  stood 
near  to  him,  waiting  to  approach  more  closely  the  old  min- 
ister. Mr.  Waldron's  features  brightened  for  an  instant, 
and  Mr.  Watson  raised  his  head  eagerly. 

"  Come  near  to  me,  Hester,"  he  said.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing that  you  may  not  hear.  W^ait  a  moment,  all  of  you  ;  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

He  lay  still  for  a  few  minutes,  collecting  his  thoughts  j 
and  Carl  looked  round  the  bare  room,  whose  emptiness 
and  bareness  made  more  chilly  the  atmosphere  of  death. 
Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  the  career  upon  which  he  had 
entered  this  evening  ?  He  did  not  dare  to  turn  his  eyes  tQ 
the  place  where  Hester  sat,  beside  the  pillow  of  her  old 
friend  ;  but  he  saw  her,  vaguely  and  indistinctly,  bending 
over  him  and  wiping  the  damp  cold  forehead  with  hep 
handkerchief  There  had  been  a  thought  of  his  o\Yii 
<}* 


202  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

death  all  day  in  Carl's  mind,  as  there  is  in  every  timt. 
of  unusual  agitation  to  a  sensitive  and  visionary  spirit ; 
but  it  had  not  been  a  solitary  and  almost  friendless  death 
like  this. 

"  I  must  speak,"  said  the  minister  in  a  sad,  and  well- 
nigh  querulous  voice  ;  '•  I  have  had  very  much  to  bear 
upon  my  soul  because  of  my  church.  It  has  been  a  heavy 
charge  ;  and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  done  yet  before  it 
will  be  without  spot  or  blemish.  The  task  has  been  too 
hard  for  me.  I  pray  God  you  may  be  stronger  for  His 
service  than  I  hav^e  been." 

"  God  looks  upon  your  work  with  other  eyes  than 
yours,"  said  Carl.  "  You  will  hear  Him  say,  '  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant :  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy 
Lord.'" 

The  dim  eyes  brightened  a  little  as  Carl's  voice  re- 
peated the  familiar  words  ;  but  he  shook  his  already  trem- 
bling head  despondingly. 

"  Nay,  but  I  have  not  been  faithful,"  he  answered  ;  "  I 
have  been  afraid  to  speak,  and  kept  silence  often  and  often 
against  my  conscience.  Brethren,  bear  with  me  this  once. 
I  am  more  afraid  of  God  than  of  you  at  this  moment. 
Your  divisions  and  your  want  of  brotherly  love  have  been 
a  heavy  burden  upon  me.  Brother  ^^'aldron,  there  has 
been  a  canker-worm  of  worldly  pride  and  self-will  in  your 
heart,  which  must  needs  be  cast  away.  You  have 
made  us  all  feel  it, — the  Church  and  me.  You  were  too 
great  a  man  for  us  ;  there  was  no  one  to  stand  against 
you  ;  and  I  never  dared  to  say  it  till  now." 

His  voice  fell  into  almost  inarticulate  whispers,  and  he 
paused  for  more  strength.  Perhaps  never  did  a  deacon 
feel  more  completely  confounded  and  thunderstruck  beside 
bis  pastor's  death-bgd  than  did  Mr.  Waldron  ;  but  it  was 
not  a  time  for  him  to  protest  against  his  judgment. 


IN   SUCCESSION.  203 

'•  As  for  you,  dear  brother  Morley,"  continued  the 
painful  voice.  "  you  have  been  a  continual  sorrow  and 
heaviness  of  heart  to  me.  Look  at  what  you  are  doing. 
You  are  throwing  awayy^ur  h'fe,  which  ought  to  have  been 
a  blessing  to  all  about  you.  You  have  made  Hester's  life 
a  grief  to  her." 

"  It  is  not  I  who  have  done  it,"  replied  John  INIorley, 
with  a  quivering  face. 

"  Nay,  but  it  is  you,"  he  urged  ;  "  surely  the  past 
should  be  forgotten.  I  am  very  sorrowful  for  Hester  ; 
she  has  had  a  sore  burden  to  carry  also.  Will  you  not 
take  it  from  her?  Now  you  are  all  here,  I  commend  her 
to  you ;  for  in  me  she  will  lose  a  friend,  and  she  cannot 
afford  to  lose  any.  She  has  been  like  a  very  dear  daugh- 
ter unto  me.     You  will  all  take  care  of  Hester." 

He  did  not  seem  to  expect  any  answer,  but  turned  to 
Hester  and  smiled  feebly  upon  her.  A  moment  or  two 
afterwards  he  resumed  his  speech.  ■ 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "  I  was  to  have  received  you  into 
my  church  to-day.  Surely  I  may  do  it  now  in  the  pres 
ence  of  these  witnesses.  Hester,  I  give  you  the  right  hand 
of  fellowship,  in  token  that  you  are  received  into  the 
Church  of  Christ." 

He  laid  his  right  hand  in  hers,  and  closed  his  weary 
eyelids,  sinking  back,  as  if  exhausted,  upon  his  pillow. 
Grant,  who  had  stolen  unperceived  to  the  other  side  of 
the  bed,  placed  his  fingers  upon  his  pulse,  and  made  a 
sign  to  them  to  take  Hester  away.  Cari  bent  down  and 
put  his  mouth  near  to  the  ear  of  his  dying  colleague. 

"  I  will  stay  with  you  till  the  end,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  stay,"  he  whispered  ;  "  I  have  need  of  you.  I 
am  afraid,  still." 

It  was  a  long  night,  and  Carl  passed  it  in  scarcely  in- 
terrupted reverie  as  he  watched  the  last  ebb  of  life  reced- 


204  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

ing  slowly  from  the  heart  of  this  stranger  to  whom  he 
found  himself  united  by  so  strong  a  tie.  It  was  a  ni-ght 
full  of  checks  and  chills  upon  his  young  enthusiasm.  The 
charoe,  even  of  this  humble  church,  had  been  too  burden- 
some for  its  pastor.  Towards  the  end  he  spoke  often  and 
incoherently  of  Hester,  and  was  troubled  for  her,  repeatedly 
recommending  her  to  Grant  and  Carl.  Then  his  voice 
sank  into  whispered  murmurings,  and  breathed  its  last 
word  in  a  tone  which  no  ear  could  catch.  Carl  had  -be- 
come the  sole  pastor  of  the  Church  at  I..ittle  Aston. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MISS  waldron's  counsel. 

BREAKFAST  was  just  finished,  but  the  family  had 
not  yet  dispersed,  when  Carl  reached  Aston  Court 
next  morning.  There  was  a  shade  of  embarrassment  in 
Mr.  Waldron's  greeting,  for  he  could  not  forget  that  this 
young  man,  who  was  under  his  patronage,  had  heard 
administered  to  him  the  sharpest  rebuke  it  had  ever  been 
his  lot  to  receive.  Yet  at  bottom  he  was  too  true  a  man 
and  too  sincere  a  Christian  to  resent  his  dying  pastor's 
reproach.  He  shook  Carl's  hand,  therefore,  with  more 
warmth  than  usual,  and  looked  cordially  into  his  worn 
face,  which  was  weary  with  the  watching  and  the  medita- 
tions of  the  night.  Robert,  who  had  been  about  to  quit 
the  table,  lingered  to  listen  to  his  report ;  with  a  secret 
impatience  to  hear  what  had  occurred  at  the  meeting  the 
night  before,  and  to  ascertain  whether  Carl  and  Hester 
had  yet  seen  one  another.  Miss  Waldron  was  the  first  to 
inquire  after  the  minister. 

"He  is  dead,"  answered  Carl,  with  the  brevity  of 
emotion. 

"  And  what  was  the  last  utterance  of  our  beloved  pas- 
tor ? "  she  asked.  She  had  rather  looked  down  upon  the 
meek  and  timid  old  man  during  his  lifetime;  but  she 
possessed  the  common  and  morbid  curiosity  for  knowing 
the  last  words  of  the  dying. 


20^1  HESTER    MUKI.EV'S    PROMISE. 

"  It  was  inarticulate,"  replied  Carl  evasively  ;  "  his 
voice  failed  him  an  hour  or  two  before  he  died." 

"  But,"  persisted  Miss  VValdron,  '"  there  must  have 
been  some  last  sayings  which  were  articulate  before  he 
lost  his  voice.  The  last  words  of  dying  saints  are  very 
precious,  and  they  should  be  made  the  property  of  the 
Church," 

"  He  was  speaking  chiefly  of  two  of  the  members  of 
his  church,"  said  Carl,  with  reluctance  ;  "  it  was  his  dying 
charge  to  me  as  his  successor.  He  committed  to  my  care 
those  for  whom  he  felt  the  greatest  anxiety." 

"  And  who  might  these  be  ?  "  asked  Miss  Waldron  , 
"  two  members  of  the  Church  !  We  can  be  of  use  to  you 
here.  You  know  nothing  of  your  fiock  as  yet ;  but  we 
know  them.  Whom  did  our  dear  pastor  so  specially  com- 
mend to  your  charge  .''  " 

Carl  looked  round  at  each  face  with  doubt  and  irresolu- 
tion. If  Miss  Waldron  had  been  alone  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  tell  her  all ;  but  how  could  he  mention  John 
Morley  and  Hester  before  Robert  "i  Mr.  Waldron  guessed 
the  reason  of  his  reluctance,  and  would  not  yield  to  avoid- 
ing the  utterance  of  John  Morley's  name. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  I  believe,"  he  said,  addressing  his 
daughter,  "  it  would  be 'Hester  and  her  father." 

A  rapid  tremor  of  agitation  ran  through  Robert  Wal- 
dron's  frame,  and  he  rose  hurriedly  from  his  chair  as  if  to 
leave  them  altogether ;  but  he  only  walked  to  the  window 
and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  terrace  before  it. 

"  But  Hester  is  no  member  of  the  Church,"  said  Miss 
Waldron,  almost  peevishly;  "and  I  want  to  know  how  ever 
she  came  to  be  present  at  the  church-meeting  last  night." 

"  I  gave  her  permission  to  be  present,"  replied  Mr. 
Waldron,  in  a  mild,  deprecating  tone  ;  '•  and,  my  dear, 
Mr.  Watson  received  her  into  the  Church  last  night  before 


MISS    WALDKOX'S   COUNSEL.  20/ 

lie  died.  It  was  no  doubt  informal  ;  but  I  was  present, 
and  so  were  Mr.  Bramwell,  and  her  father.  There  was 
something  very  affecting  in  it,  I  assure  you.'' 

The  tears  stood  in  Mr.  Waldron's  eyes  at  the  recollec- 
tion. Everything  which  concerned  Hester  touched  the 
softest  part  of  his  nature;  and  Miss  Waldron  would  have 
been  struck  with  utter  amazement  at  her  father's  folly,  if 
she  could  for  a  moment  have  seen  into  the  close  recesses 
of  his  heart. 

"T  never  in  all  my  life  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  she 
exclaimed,  pronouncing  the  words  slowly,  and  with  marked 
emphasis,  "  what  could  you  all  have  been  thinking  of? 
Hester  Morley  at  the  death-bed  of  Mr.  Watson  !  That 
girl  is  the  most  singular  person  I  ever  met  with.  I  do  not 
consider  her  fit  for  church-membership,  as  yet.  She  has 
the  most  independent  notions,  and  no  clear  faith  in  one 
doctrine.  Poor  girl !  She  has  grown  up  under  great 
disadvantages." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  for  it  was  impossible  to  enumer- 
ate Hester's  disadvantages  before  her  brother,  who  was 
chafing  and  fuming  inwardly,  but  who  did  not  care  to 
leave  the  room,  as  long  as  Hester  was  the  topic  of  the 
conversation. 

"What  disadvantages.-"'  asked  Carl  absently;  speak- 
ing only  because  Miss  Waldron  paused. 

She  darted  an  apologetic  and  beseeching  glance  at 
Robert,  who  now  turned  round  with  a  face  dark  with  an 
ger. 

"  Mr.  Bramwell,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  startled  Carl 
from  his  absence  of  mind,  "  1  suppose  it  is  your  right  to 
learn  the  domestic  history  of  your  people  ;  and  I  will 
leave  you  to  hear  that  of  the  Morleys  from  my  sister." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room  without  giving  Carl  time 
to  answer  :  and  Miss  Waldron  threw  herself  back  in  the 


208  HESTER   MORLEY  S    PROMISE. 

chair,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Mr.  Waldron, 
with  an  expression  of  shame  and  pain  upon  his  face,  was 
about  to  speak,  when  Carl  interrupted  him  gently. 

"  I  know  it  all,"  he  said  ;  "  I  knew  it  long  before  I  had 
any  thought  of  coming  here.  Grant  wrote  to  me,  and  told 
me  all  he  then  knew,  at  the  time  he  was  attending  Mr. 
Robert  Waldron  in  Mr.  Morley's  house,  about  nine  months 
ago." 

Mr.  Waldron  regarded  Carl  with  an  air  of  profound 
astonishment,  mingled  with  incredulity  as  to  whether  he 
had  heard  him  aright;  and  Miss  Waldron  dropped  her 
handkerchief,  and  turned  a  bewildered  gaze  upon  him. 

"  Attending  my  son  in  John  Morley's  house  !  "  ejacu- 
lated Mr.  Waldron  ;  "  what  did  you  say,  Mr.  Bramwell  ?  " 

"  It  cannot  be  a  secret  to  you,"  answered  Carl,  taken 
by  surprise,  himself;  "surely  you  knew  it.  Miss  Waldron? 
Your  brother  was  almost  murdered  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
Morley's  house  about  nine  months  ago." 

"Robert  had  an  accident  nine  months  ago,"  she  said, 
"  through  which  Mr.  Grant  nursed  him  ;  but  it  was  at 
Beckbury,  twenty  miles  from  here." 

"  I  have  done  wrong,"  cried  Carl,  with  a  look  and  tone 
of  concern ;  "  but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  for  an  instant 
that  you  did  not  both  know  the  facts.  L  knew  that  he 
wished  the  secret  kept  from  the  townspeople,  which  I  very 
well  understood.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  betray  my  indis- 
cretion to  him.  If  you  wish  me  to  gain  his  esteem  and 
friendship,  it  would  only  prejudice  him  against  me." 

He  spoke  with  extreme  earnestness,  and  addressed 
himself  rather  to  Mr.  Waldron  than  to  his  daughter.  With 
her  he  felt  sure  that  he  was  safe. 

"But  what  is  it.?"  asked  Mr.  Waldron,  with  impetuos- 
ity ;  "  I  must  know  the  whole  of  it  now.  What  did  you 
say?     Robert  almost  murdered  at  John  Morley's  door?" 


MISS  waldron's  counsel.  209 

"  Grant  can  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Carl  ;  "  but  if 
he  will  not,  I  will  read  his  letter  again,  or  put  it  into  your 
hands,  on  condition  that  you  do  not  betray  either  of  us  to 
your  son.  If  I  could  see  any  good  to  result  from  letting 
him  know  of  it,  I  would  make  no  condition  at  all  ;  but  I 
do  not." 

"  I  will  go  and  question  Grant  this  moment,"  exclaim- 
ed Mr.  VValdron,  hurrying  away  with  more  than  ordinary 
energy,  and  leaving  his  daughter  alone  with  Carl.  There 
had  been  very  much  to  excite  and  trouble  her  in  the  fore- 
going conversation  ;  for  Robert  had  already  insinuated  to 
her  his  own  apprehensions  relating  to  Carl  and  Hester. 
It  had  been  done  with  caution  and  finesse,  but  there  was 
a  dread  in  the  depths  of  her  own  heart  with  which  it  ex- 
actly coincided.  It  would  be  hard  indeed  if  Carl  were  so 
soon  to  cease  to  belong  exclusively  to  herself.  He  drew 
nearer  to  her,  and  appealed  to  her  in  a  tone  of  earnest  but 
deferential  importunity. 

"  Mr.  Watson  committed  Hester  Morley  to  the  care  of 
Grant  and  myself,"  he  said,  "  but  what  can  we  do  for  her? 
It  is  you,  who  are  so  good,  and  to  whom  the  Master  has 
entrusted  so  many  talents,  who  should  be  the  friend  of 
this  lonely  girl.  I  do  not  know  what  calamity  Mr,  Wat- 
son feared  for  her,  but  there  seemed  some  special  dread 
about  her  future.  What  could  I  do  to  protect  her  from 
sorrow  and  danger  ?  I  will  be  indeed  her  friend,  but  you 
are  wiser  and  better  than  me  ;  a  woman  like  herself,  your 
heart  has  a  purity  and  tenderness  unknown  to  man.  You 
will  be  her  friend,  even  as  you  are  already  so  generously 
and  so  nobly  mine  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  eloquent  warmth,  and  approached  her 
so  closely  that  his  hand  nearly  touched  hers.  There  was 
a  peculiar  fascination  about  the  mere  presence  of  a  young 
and  pleasing  woman,  such  as  she  appeared  to  him  ;  and 


210  HESTER    MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 

tliis  morning  he  felt  more  tlian  usual  the  need  of  a  wo- 
man's gentle  ministry  to  chase  away  the  gloomy  impres- 
sions of  the  night. 

"  Ah  !  "  sobbed  Miss  VValdron,  with  very  real  and  very 
bitter  tears,  "  1  am  so  much  your  friend  that  I  tremble  for 
you  ;  so  impulsive  and  so  inexperienced  as  you  are.  I 
am  older  than  you,  and  have  seen  much,  both  in  the 
Church  and  the  world.  I  foresee  that  you  may  attain  to 
great  eminence  and  usefulness  ;  but  a  single  false  step 
at  the  outset  of  your  career  may  become  your  ruin.  Be 
warned  in  time.  I  am  frank  with  you  because  I  feel  a 
great  regard  for  you.  Leave  the  charge  of  poor  Hester 
Morley  to  me,  and  do  not  take  too  great  an  interest  your- 
self in  her  welfare.  She  is  young  and  foolish,  and  might 
draw  you  into  a  difficulty  it  would  be  hard  to  escape 
from." 

Miss  Waldron  succeeded  in  pronouncing  these  senten 
ces  in  a  tone  penetrated  with  candor  and  a  deep  concern 
in  him.  The  hot  quick  blood  of  his  sensitive  nature  had 
mounted  to  his  face,  and  a  spark  of  almost  angry  resent- 
ment had  kindled  in  his  eyes  ;  but  he  could  not  steel  him- 
self against  her  agitation  and  tears.  There  was  subtle, 
delicious  flattery  in  this  warm  interest  of  a  woman,  his 
elder  and  superior,  which  compensated  for  the  gall  of  the 
admonition.  When  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  sparkling 
through  her  tears,  they  met  a  glance  in  his  which  made 
her  heart  glow  with  a  sensation  altogether  new  to  her. 
Hei  eyelids  dropped,  and  her  lips  trembled  ;  but  she 
mastered  her  emotion  sufficiently  to  resume  the  conversa- 
tion in  a  somewhat  lighter  tone. 

"  I  speak  for  your  sake,"  she  said.  "  Hester  has  a 
certain  amount  of  beauty  which  would  make  it  excusable 
for  a  man  young  as  you  are  to  be  attracted  by  it.  But  I 
know  of  no  one  so  unsuitable  to  become  a  prominent 


MISS   WALDRON  S    COUNSEL.  211 

member  of  any  Church,  such  as  a  minister's  wife  should 
be.  Of  course,  some  clay  you  will  fall  in  love  and  marrj-. 
but  I  trust  not  with  Hester  Morley.  She  is  visionary  and 
unsound  in  the  faith  ;  she  is  not  to  be  trusted.  There  is 
not  the  spirit  of  the  daily  cross  in  her.  Though  she  is  in 
the  church,  she  belongs  to  the  world.  Her  only  friend  is 
a  frivolous  Frenchwoman  of  the  lower  orders,  a  Papist ; 
and  Hester  herself  owns  that  she  makes  no  effort  to  con- 
vert her.  She  says  that  she  is  too  old  for  change,  and  too 
dark  to  understand  our  pure  and  lofty  creed.  I  shall 
insist,  some  day,  upon  bearing  the  bread  of  life  to  this 
famishing  soul ;  for  Hester,  who  sees  her  frequently,  does 
not  feed  her  with  a  single  crumb.  You  can  judge  how 
unfit  she  is  for  a  post  of  honor  in  the  vineyard.  Therefore 
I  warn  you  beforehand.  '  As  a  jewel  of  gold  in  a  swine's 
snout,  so  is  a  fair  woman  which  is  without  discretion.' " 

With  this  harsh  quotation  hurled  at  Hester,  Miss  Wal- 
dron  concluded  her  admonition,  and  Carl  remained  silent. 
Seeing  the  impression  she  had  produced,  she  recom- 
mended him,  with  an  air  of  sisterly  sweetness,  to  seek 
some  repose  before  entering  on  the  necessary  preparation^ 
for  the  services  of  his  first  Sunday  as  pastor  of  the  Church. 
Carl  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  own 
room  for  the  rest  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A   PAINFUL   DISCOVERY. 

IN  the  meantime  Mr.  Waldron  was  hastening  with  all 
speed  to  find  Grant,  before  he  left  his  lodgings  to 
make  his  morning  call  upon  his  patients,  whose  number 
was  increasing  with  fair  rapidity  under  the  prestige  of  Mr. 
Waldron's  patronage.  He  burst  upon  him  just  as  he  was 
preparing  to  go  out,  and  lost  no  time  in  beating  about  the 
bush.  As  a  statesman  Mi.  Waldron  had  known  no  tactics, 
except  that  of  asking  straightforward  and  pungent  ques- 
tions ;  and  he  tried  no  other  means  now.  Grant  was  as 
frank  as  himself;  and  having  a  greater  respect  for  him 
than  for  his  son,  and  being  rather  glad  at  Carl's  inadver- 
tence, he  soon  put  Mr.  Waldron  into  possession  of  all  the 
facts  he  knew. 

"  But  what  rancor  there  must  be  in  John  Morley's 
soul !  "  cried  Mr.  Waldron,  sinking  into  a  chair,  and  rest- 
ing both  his  hands  upon  the  arms  of  it.  "  I  can  barely 
credit  it.  Grant.  Were  you  convinced  then,  both  of  you, 
that  he,  and  nobody  else,  could  have  struck  the  blow  I  " 

"  Is  there  any  other  man  who  owes  him  such  a 
grudge  ? "  asked  Grant,  bluntly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  in  accents  almost 
peevish,  and  with  a  gesture  as  if  he  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  "My  son  has  wounded  me  to  the  very  quick  ; 
and  I  have  ceased  to  seek  out  his  faults.  He  will  have  to 
bear  the  consequences  himself,  here  and  hereafter." 


A    PAINFUL   DISCOVERY.  213 

His  upright  head  sank  a  little  on  his  bieast ;  and  his 
eyes,  bright  and  undiinmed  still,  met  Grant's  regard  ruth- 
fully. 

"You  are  too  hard  upon  him,"  said  Grant  with  an  hon- 
est plainness  which  was  as  honey  to  Mr.  \\'aldron.  "  I 
would  stake  my  head  that  this  is  the  only  folly  of  which 
he  has  been  guilty  ;  and  he  was  little  more  than  a  boy 
when  he  fell  into  it.  He  was  four  years  younger  than  I 
am ;  and,  dear  me  !  what  I  might  have  done  if  I'd  been 
rich  and  idle,  and  an  only  son,  like  him !  " 

Mr.  Waldron  breathed  more  calmly,  and  the  rigid 
muscles  about  his  mouth  relaxed  into  the  expression 
which  generally  served  him  as  a  smile.  But  his  mind  re- 
curred to  John  Morley. 

"  Yet  how  could  you  account  for  him  taking  you  into 
his  own  house  ? "  he  asked. 

"  He  could  do  nothing  else,"  answered  Grant.  "  I 
walked  into  the  nearest  house  with  your  son  in  my  arms, 
and  Hester  had  let  me  in  before  he  knew  anything  of  it. 
To  screen  himself  he  was  obliged  to  let  us  remain.  Nei- 
ther of  us  believe  that  he  had  any  previous  design  to  at- 
tack him  ;  but  seeing  him  sauntering  about  the  street 
which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter,  John  Morley  was  over- 
come by  a  sudden  access  of  revenge  and  passion.  A 
blow  struck  more  warily  must  have  killed  him  ;  half  an 
inch,  ay,  the  tenth  of  an  inch  would  have  done  it." 

"  But  what  weapon  did  he  use  ? "  asked  Mr.  Waldron, 
shuddering. 

"  Some  days  afterwards,"  he  replied,  "  I  saw  in  his 
workshop  several  iron  bars,  from  a  foot  and  a  half  to  four 
feet  in  length.  They  are  used  for  screwing  up  the  bind- 
ing-presses. If  one  of  these  happened  to  be  at  hand  it 
would  form  a  very  likely  weapon." 


214  IIKSTER    MORLEV  S    PROiMISE. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  true,"  said  Mr.  Waldron. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  Grant. 

"But,  how  then?"  he  exclaimed,  "you  choose  this 
man  for  j-our  friend,  you  visit  him  daily,  believing  him  all 
the  while  to  be  a  murderer  !  " 

"No  more  a  murderer  than  you  or  I,"  said  Grant, 
calmly.  "  I  have  studied  John  Morley ;  he  is  as  soft- 
hearted as  a  woman,  always  apt  to  be  overwhelmed  by 
the  sin  and  misery  of  the  world.  To  him  there  must  be  a 
constant  pressure  of  despair  from  the  thought  of  the  sin 
and  misery  of  the  wife  he  has  loved  and  lost.  If  he  knew 
for  certain  that  she  was  dead,  half  his  burden  would  fall 
off.  When  he  saw  your  son,  a  frenzy  seized  him,  and  I 
do  not  wonder  at  the  blow  he  struck.  In  many  countries 
it  would  pass  for  a  virtue  rather  than  a  crime." 

"  But  he  is  a  member  of  the  church,"  said  Mr.  Wal 
dron,  "  and  attends  the  means  of  grace." 

"  Just  now,"  answered  Grant,  "  a  long  walk  every  day 
would  be  the  best  means  of  grace  for  him,  and  it  would  do 
him  more  good  to  be  a  member  of  the  Alpine  Club.  The 
truth  is,  he  is  crusted  over  with  morbid  melancholy 
amounting  to  monomania.  Why,  I  should  commit  a  score 
of  murders  if  I  lived,  as  he  does,  in  the  eternal  gloom  of 
that  house!     So  would  you,  Mr.  Waldron." 

"  Hush  !  there  he  is,"  cried  Mr.  Waldron. 

In  a  window  nearly  opposite  them  could  be  seen  the 
head  of  John  Morley  set  in  the  blackened  and  decayed 
frame  of  the  casement.  He  stood  motionless,  looking  up- 
wards with  blank  eyes  which  evidently  saw  nothing.  The 
deep  lines  in  his  face  seemed  more  furrowed  than  ever 
and  his  whole  aspect  was  one  of  grim  and  perpetual  hope- 
lessness. He  glanced  round  once,  and  his  eyes  appeared 
to  sweep  the  full  range  of  their  sight  as  if  searching  for 
some  obiect   which  he  had   lost,  but  which  he  had  long 


A    PAINFUL   DISCOVERY.  21  5 

since  despaired  of  finding.  Mr.  Waldron  watched  him 
with  painful  and  contending  emotions. 

"Grant,"  he  said,  "I'd  give  him  half  my  possessions 
if  they  would  do  him  any  good.  Yet  he  almost  killed  my 
son,  my  only  boy  !  I  feel  nearer  hating  him  than  I  ever 
felt  towards  any  man.  You  do  not  know  how  a  father 
feels!  Why,  it  was  only  last  night  I  shook  the  hand  that 
had  been  raised  against  my  boy's  life  !  I  hope  I  am  a 
Christian.  God  deliver  me  in  His  abundant  grace  from 
the  devil  !  But  to  think  what  it  would  have  been  if  Rob- 
ert had  been  murdered,  and  I  had  never  heard  him  speak 
again.  He  was  such  a  good  boy  once,  Grant ;  a  good, 
affectionate,  conscientious  boy  was  my  Robert.  Bob  I 
called  him  then.  And  that  man  yonder  had  nearly  killed 
him  !  I  wish  he  would  take  half  my  fortune,  and  go  awa> 
out  of  the  country.  But  to-morrow  I  shall  see  him  at 
chapel,  and  next  week  he  will  stand  beside  me  at  the 
grave  of  our  old  pastor.  I  had  better  go  home  and  think 
it  all  over  quietly  by  myself;  and  may  God  give  me  grace 
to  prove  myself  a  true  Christian." 

He  wrung  Grant's  hand  convulsively,  and  took  a  last 
furtive  glance  at  the  grey,  despairing  face  in  the  window 
opposite.  Then  he  retraced  his  steps  homewards,  and, 
like  Carl  Bramwell,  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  alone  to 
think  over  the  discovery  of  John  Morley's  crime  and  Rob- 
ert's danger. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HESTER'S   SANCTUARY. 

MISS  Waldron  took  care  that  Carl  should  have  no 
opportunity  of  seeing  Hester  again  until  some  of 
the  excitement  of  his  new  position  had  worn  off,  and  until 
she  had  established  a  stronger  influence  over  him.  It  was 
astonishing  how  great  an  effect  her  clever  platitudes  had 
upon  him.  She  possessed  the  art  of  investing  common- 
place observations  with  a  seeming  profundity  which  might 
easily  have  imposed  upon  an  older  man  than  Carl  ;  while 
at  the  same  time  she  surrounded  him  with  those  thousand 
minute  delicate  attentions  which  lie  only  in  the  power  of  a 
woman.  Once  or  twice  she  drove  with  him  to  ^hn  Mor- 
ley's  house,  and  waited  in  the  carriage  at  the  door  while 
he  made  a  pastoral  call ;  by  which  means  she  insured  an 
extreme  brevity  of  visit,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  learn- 
ing that  Hester  had  not  made  her  appearance. 
1  How  long  she  could  have  maintained  this  careful  line 
I  of  conduct  is  uncertain,  if  Grant  had  not  been  impatient  to 
introduce  Carl  more  familiarly  to  John  Morley  ;  and  he 
took  the  first  chance  that  presented  itself  Carl  naturally 
chose  to  see  a  good  deal  of  his  future  brother-in-law ;  and 
though  Grant  was  made  welcome  at  Aston  Court  by  all, 
even  by  Miss  Waldron,  who  was  fully  awake  to  this  weak 
point  in  her  position,  yet  she  could  not  forbid  the  young 
minister  visiting  him  in  his  own  rooms.     A  favorable  op- 


HESTER'S    SANCTUARY.  217 

portunity  occurred  before  long,  when  Grant  invited  him, 
without  formality,  to  call  upon  John  Morley. 

"  I  want  you,  if  possible,  to  infuse  a  little  hope  into  his 
nature,"  said  Grant ;  "  and  then,  if  I  could  induce  him  to 
shut  up  shop  an  hour  earlier  and  take  some  healthy  exer- 
cise instead  of  going  to  the  prayer-meeting,  we  should 
make  him  a  tenfold  better  Christian  than  he  is.  Don't 
you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  do,"  answered  Carl. 

"Miss  Waldron  wouldn't,"  said  Grant,  laughing;  "but 
it  stands  to  sense  that  when  a  poor  fellow's  liver  is  as  bad 
as  a  liver  can  be,  he  cannot  be  as  good  a  Christian  as  he 
ought  to  be.  I'll  make  you  see  that  as  plain  as  print, 
Carl,  if  you  will  only  attend." 

"  Hadn't  we  better  see  Mr.  Morley  first  ? "  suggested 
Carl. 

"  Well,  I'm  ready,"  he  answered.  "  I  don't  need  a 
hat  just  to  cross  the  street.  There  a  customer  has  gone 
in — a  rare  bird  opposite — but  if  you  like  we  will  go  aryd 
see  Hester  first.     I  am  quite  at  home  over  yonder." 

He  proved  the  truth  of  his  last  words  by  entering  the 
house  without  knocking  at  the  door.  The  lobby  had  a 
damp  earthy  smell,  at  which  he  uttered  a  significant 
"  Faugh  !  "  He  passed  on  without  ceremony  up  the  stair- 
case to  Hester's  little  sitting-room,  the  door  of  which  was 
half  open.  It  was  the  same  homely,  austere,  bare  room 
where  Robert  had  passed  his  weary  hours  of  convales- 
cence. To  Carl's  student-eyes  it  was  full  of  charms.  The 
glitter  of  gilded  bindings  upon  the  bookshelves  ;  the  pile 
of  snowy  work  upon  the  table  where  Hester  had  been 
sewing,  w-ith  an  open  volume  before  her.  A  small  thimble 
lay  upon  the  page,  so  curious  and  rare  a  toy  to  Carl  that 
he  could  not  foi'bear  to  take  it  up  and  try  it  upon  his  own 
fingers,  one  after  the  other,  until  it  fitted  the  least.  He 
10 


2l8  HESTER    MORI.EV'S    PROMISE. 

wibhed  that  Miss  Waldion  would  sometimes  employ  her- 
self with  sewing.  The  open  book  was  one  of  his  special 
favorites  :  and  several  others  upon  the  shelves  were  well 
worth  his  own  reading.  He  put  his  liat  down  on  the  table 
near  to  Hester's  work,  and  regarded  the  whole  with  a  sin- 
gularly pleased  smile  upon  liis  lips.  There  were  no  more 
than  two  chairs  in  the  room,  Hester's  and  another.  He 
took  the  other,  and  looked  across  to  her  seat  beside  the 
white  work  and  the  open  book  and  the  thimble  lying  upon 
the  page.  Miss  \Valdron's  kind  admonitions  were  all  lost 
upon  him. 

He  had  been  in  the  room,  Hester's  sanctuary,  alone, 
for  Grant  had  left  him  there  while  he  went  to  seek  her. 
Grant  was  not  actually  away  more  than  a  minute,  for  he 
had  gone  only  to  the  end  of  the  long  passage,  to  the  door 
which  connected  the  workroom  with  the  dwelling,  and 
there  shouted  to  Lawson,  in  his  loud,  sonorous  voice,  to 
ask  if  she  was  up  in  the  attic.  Hester's  own  clear  tone 
had  answered,  inviting  him  to  come  up  to  her.  He  went 
back  to  fetch  Carl. 

"  She  says  we  are  to  go  up  to  her,"  he  announced. 

"  Who  says .''  "  asked  Carl  absently. 

"  Who  says  ? "  echoed  Grant ;  "  good  gracious,  Carl, 
what  a  dreamy  fellow  you  are  !  Why,  Hester  says  so, 
Hester  Morley.     I  wonder  at  you.     Come  along  with  me." 

Carl  followed  him,  almost  with  a  guilty  conscience,  a 
sense  of  treachery  and  disobedience  to  Miss  Waldron. 
Yet  was  it  not  decidedly  his  duty  to  become  acquainted 
with  Hester  ?  He  would  set  so  strict  a  guard  over  himself 
that  he  would  not  fall  into  the  danger  his  kind  sisterly 
friend  apprehended.  He  knew  indistinctly  that  they  were 
passing  through  some  remarkably  dingy  rooms  and  up  a 
narrow  staircase ;  and  then  they  came  to  a  flood  of  sun- 
shine, and  a  glorified  attic,  with  a  young,  lovely,  gracefu' 


HESTER'S    SANCTUARY.  2ig 

girl  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  sunbeams,  glowing  and 
blushing  with  surprise,  and  looking  into  his  face  with  sh})-, 
almost  timid,  grey  eyes.  It  was  time  for  Carl  to  shake 
off  his  absence  of  mind.  It  was  perfectly  necessary  that 
he  should  conduct  himself  as  a  pastor.  After  uttering  a 
few  words,  what  he  knew  not,  he  looked  round  the  curious 
apartment,  and  saw  an  undersized  and  withered-looking 
man  standing  behind  Hester.  When  he  met  Carl's  eyes 
he  bowed  profoundly,  and  with  an  ease  that  confounded 
the  young  scholar,  who  had  made  no  study  of  any  mode 
of  salutation.  It  was  a  full  minute  before  he  could  ven- 
ture to  glance  at  Hester  again,  but  when  he  did  so,  she 
had  turned  back  to  the  binding-press  in  the  window  where 
Grant  was  looking  carefully  at  her  work.  Carl  drew  a 
step  or  two  nearer  to  them. 

"  Mr.  Bramwell,"  she  said,  "this  is  my  own  work.  I 
have  learned  to  gild  the  books  after  Lawson  has  bound 
them.  This  is  Lawson,  my  father's  bookbinder,  and  my 
oldest  friend." 

Carl  shook  hands  cordially  with  Lawson. 

"  Mr.  Grant  ought  not  to  have  brought  you  up  here  the 
very  first  time."  continued  Hester,  a  little  reassured.  "I 
did  not  know  you  were  with  him,  or  I  should  have  come 
down  stairs  to  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  did  not  know,"  said  Carl,  with 
difficulty. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  altogether  sorry,"  answered 
Hester,  feeling  a  girlish  sympathy  with  his  evident  embar- 
rassment, and  talking  the  more  fluently  because  of  it. 
"  You  know  I  have  seen  you  several  times  already,  though 
I  have  not  spoken  to  you  and  I  do  not  feel  as  if  you  were 
quite  a  stranger.  Besides,  Mr.  Grant  has  talked  to  me  a 
great  deal  about  you  and  your  sister.     I  know  all  about 


220  HESTER    MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 

her  ;  and  I  do  hope  she  will  like  me  very  much  when  she 
comes  to  live  at  Little  Aston. 

Carl  felt  as  if  he  should  renounce  his  sister  if  she  did 
not  niake  Hester  her  chief  friend — after  Miss  Waldron, 
perhaps. 

"  I  think,"  said  Hester,  with  a  charming  little  toss  of 
her  head,  ''it  is  quite  as  well  you  should  know  at  once 
that  I  belong  to  the  working  classes.  Yes,  I  work  up  here 
five  or  six  hours  a  day,  for  poor  Lawson's  hand  is  not 
always  steady  enough  for  it.  I  am  not  at  all  an  idle, 
elegant  young  lady  ;  Mr.  Grant  will  tell  you  that.  He 
sits  by  the  press  .sometimes  for  a  whole  hour  watching 
me." 

What  would  not  Carl  give  for  such  a  privilege?  He 
caught  himself  wondering  whether  he  should  ever  do  the 
same,  and  reproved  himself  sharply  for  it. 

"  Hester  looks  upon  me  as  an  old  married  man,"  said 
Grant,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  and  I  believe  I  am  the  only  one 
she  ever  sees,  except  her  father  and  Lawson." 

A  flush  crept  slowly  over  Hester's  face  until  it  deepened 
into  a  crimson  hue  of  shame,  so  plain  and  so  painful  that 
both  of  them  turned  away  on  pretence  of  looking  at  the 
specimens  of  binding  upon  the  walls. 

"  She  is  as  shy  as  a  lapwing,"  whispered  Grant  in 
Carl's  ear ;  "  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it." 

"  We  will  go  down  stairs  now,"  said  Hester,  after  a 
moment's  pause  ;  and  she  took  off  her  large  apron,  and 
smoothed  down  the  sleeves  which  had  been  rolled  up 
above  her  round  and  dimpled  elbows.  "  My  father  will  be 
very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bramwell.  For  the  last  three  or 
four  years  Mr.  Watson  could  not  come  often  to  see  us, 
and  my  father  receives  no  other  visitors,  except  Mr. 
Grant." 

Carl  followed   her  down  stairs,  wondering  at  his  own 


HESTER'S    SANCTUARY.  221 

silence  and  ihe  difficulty  lie  felt  in  speaking  to  her.  Relief 
came  to  him  in  John  Moiley's  presence,  for  the  melancholy 
and  reserved  man  brightened  at  the  appearance  of  him 
and  Grant.  The  fire  and  beauty  of  their  early  manhood, 
its  freshness  and  buoyancy,  had  still  a  nameless  charm  tor 
him  in  the  midst  of  his  disease  and  gloom.  He  listened 
to  their  keen  lively  conversation,  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  drawn  into  its  current.  Carl  was  conscious  of  talking 
well  and  aptly,  and  of  interesting  his  host ;  and  he  stayed 
so  long  that  Grant  was  compelled  to  leave  him.  He 
scarcely  knew  how  he  had  the  courage  and  resolution  to 
say  farewell  at  last ;  but  he  awoke  from  a  confused  trance 
as  his  foot  struck  against  the  massive  door-sill  of  the 
entrance-hall  at  Aston  Court,  and  he  felt  that  the  next 
minute  he  should  be  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Waldron. 

Should  he  tell  her  where  he  had  been,  or  keep  it  a 
secret  from  her?  He  felt  guilty  enough  to  know  that  he 
had  gone  very  near  the  folly  against  which  she  had  so 
emphatically  warned  him.  Yet  he  was  a  free  man,  in 
bondage  to  no  one.  But  did  not  any  friendship,  and 
especially  a  friendship  so  close  and  discriminating  as  Miss 
Waldron's,  in  some  measure  militate  against  freedom  in 
its  completeness  ?  Did  he  not  owe  a  return  of  frankness 
and  confidence  to  one  who  was  so  entirely,  so  sweetly 
open  to  him  ?  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  what  had  he  to 
tell  ?  He  could  not  confess  that  he  had  put  his  hat  down 
on  the  table  close  to  Hester's  work,  and  tried  her  thimble 
on  each  of  his  own  fingers.  His  veins  tingled  at  the 
recollection.  No  ;  there  was  nothing  to  say  about  his 
visit,  and  it  would  only  give  rise  to  misapprehension  in 
Miss  Waldron's  mind  if  he  mentioned  it. 

With  this  reflection,  amounting  almost  to  a  resolution, 
he  went  on  into  the  drawing-room,  where,  the  servant  told 
him,   volunteering    the    information  with    a  covert   smile, 


222  IIKSTER    MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

he  would  find  Miss  Waldron.  She  greeted  his  arrival 
with  the  blandest  of  welcomes,  and  invited  him  to  a  seat 
upon  an  ottoman  placed  near  to  her  own  lounging  chair  in 
front  of  a  window.  She  was  herself  in  the  shade  of  the 
curtains,  which  shed  a  becoming  hue  over  her  somewhat 
faded  face. 

"  You  have  been  absent  for  some  time,"  she  said,  soft- 
ly ;  "  it  is  more  than  an  hour  since  I  went  to  the  library 
to  look  for  the  seventh  volume  of  Kitto,  and  you  were 
then  gone  away.  Have  you  been  making  some  visits 
among  our  people  ? " 

"  I  went  to  see  Grant,"  answered  Carl,  with  an  air  of 
hesitation. 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  continued  ;  "  I  suppose  he  is  now 
very  busy  with  his  preparations.  Is  there  nothing  I  can 
do  to  help  them  on  ?  You  know  for  your  sister  I  should 
be  delighted  to  do  anything  in  my  power ;  only  I  suppose 
we  shall  lose  you  when  she  comes  to  Little  Aston." 

Miss  Waldron  heaved  a  sigh,  which  spoke  inexpressi- 
ble things,  and  remained  silently  musing,  with  a  sad  eye 
fixed  upon  the  future*  for  some  moments.  She  then  re- 
sumed her  conversation  rather  abruptly. 

"Then  you  only  went  to  see  Mr.  Granrt"  she  said. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  stammered  Carl ;  "  at  least,  I  went 
only  with  the  intention  of  seeing  him,  but  he  asked  me  to 
go  across  with  him  to  Mr.  Morley's. 

"Indeed!"  said  Miss  Waldron,  with  a  significant  cold- 
ness in  her  tone  ;  and  then  she  betook  herself  to  silence, 
which  extracted  more  information  from  Carl  than  the  most 
persevering  cross-examination  would  have  done. 

"  We  went  across,"  he  said,  in  hurried  accents  j  "  and 
as  Mr.  Morley  was  engaged,  Grant  took  me  up  stairs  into 
the  workshop,  where  the  binding  is  done.  Hester  was 
there,  but    we  stayed   only  a  few  minutes,   and   then   we 


HESTERS    SAXCTLARW  223 

came  down  to  see  Mr.  Morley.  He  is.  as  Grant  says, 
a  singular  study  ;  and  it  is  possible  thnt  1  may  do  him 
good." 

"And  get  harm  to  yourself."  she  replied,  forebodingly. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  he  said  ;  "  but  if  it  were  so,  should 
I  do  well  to  set  my  own  welfare  before  his  ?  Ought  I 
never  to  run  any  risk  to  myself  for  the  sake  of  the  souls 
of  my  people?  We  applaud  those  who  go  into  a  plague- 
house  at  the  peril  of  their  own  lives  ;  and  should  not  I, 
in  my  ministr}'  to  others,  sometimes  lose  sight  of  my  own 
soul?" 

"  He  spoke  with  ardor  and  agitation,  while  Miss  Wal- 
dron  fi.xed  upon  him  a  dull  gaze  of  wonder  and  disappro- 
bation. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  she  said  ;  "  no  charge  can 
be  so  important  as  that  of  our  own  soul.  But  I  will  pray 
for  vou  that  you  may  not  be  overtaken  in  a  snare.  Would 
it  not  be  a  help  to  you  if  we  met  one  another  at  the  throne 
of  grace  at  some  stated  time  ?  " 

Carl  was  perplexed,  and  looked  question ingly  into 
Miss  Waldron's  face. 

"  I  scarcely  understand,"  he  said. 

"I  mean,  shall  we  appoint  a  season  when  we  may  both 
pray  in  our  own  closets,  with  the  knowledge  that  the  other 
is  similarly  engaged  at  the  same  moment  ?  It  is  a  great 
help  to  those  who  try  it." 

Carl  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  steadily  stud- 
ied the  pattern  of  the  carpet  before  he  replied.  A  man 
of  his  age  and  temperament  is  often  more  bashful,  not  to 
say  modest,  than  a  woman  of  Miss  Waldron's  years  and 
Jisposition.  He  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  and  he  looked 
veiy  much  put  out  of  countenance. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  murmured  ;  "there  is  such  a  solemn 
bccrecy  in  prayer  between  God  and  our  souls.     I  feel  as 


224  HESTER   MOKLEY'S   PROMISE. 

if  we  ought  to  be  alone  before  Him.  Some  may  find  it  a 
help,  but  I  think  it  would  distract  me." 

A  silence  of  several  minutes  followed,  which  was  be- 
coming almost  terrible  to  him  ;  when  at  last  Miss  Wal- 
dron  broke  it  in  tones  of  profound  emotion, — 

"  Still  I  will  pray  for  you,"  she  said,  "  and  watch  for 
your  soul.  I  proposed  it  for  your  sake  only,  that  you 
might  feel  that  you  were  not  contending  with  the  tempter 
alone.  You  are  not  alone, — you  never  will  be  while  I  re- 
main your  friend." 

She  rose,  sobbing,  and  retired,  it  may  be  supposed,  to 
her  closet ;  leaving  Carl  in  an  uncomfortable  state  of 
doubt  as  to  whether  he  had  not  behaved  like  a  brute. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

A   PERILOUS  PATH. 

THE  marriage  of  Grant  with  Carl's  sister  was  celebra- 
ted as  soon  as  they  could  enter  into  possession  of 
their  pleasant  house  on  the  road  to  Aston  Court.  It  was 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  park  gates,  and  in  the 
direct  route  between  the  Court  and  the  town.  As  soon  as 
Grant  returned  from  the  necessarily  brief  tour  of  a  young 
country  surgeon,  Carl  quitted  Aston  Court,  and  took  up 
his  permanent  abode  in  their  new  home. 

Miss  Waldron  had  manifested  a  very  charming  interest 
in  everything  relating  to  Carl's  sister  ;  and  had  added 
several  ornaments  and  luxuries  to  her  dwelling  even  be- 
fore having  seen  her.  Nothing  could  surpass  the  em- 
phasis of  her  patronage  and  kindness  to  the  young  wife, 
upon  her  entrance  into  her  new  sphere.  Oddly  enough, 
there  was  a  superficial  resemblance  between  Annie  Grant 
and  Rose  Morley,  which  struck  painfully  upon  Mr.  Wal- 
dron, though  it  escaped  the  observation  of  his  daughter. 
She  possessed  the  same  slight  and  girlish  figure,  and  the 
same  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes  ;  yet  the  similarity  of  circum- 
stances and  position,  in  the  first  pride  and  happiness  of 
marriage,  may  have  formed  the  chief  resemblance  between 
them.  The  same  impression  was  produced  by  her  on  the 
mind  of  Hester.  She  had  not  been  witness  to  the  gay  and 
innocent  importance  of  a  young  wife  since  she  had  seen  it 
in  her  stepmother.     The  old  memories  rushed  back  lik^:  a 


226  IIF.STER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

flood  upon  her,  and  the  old  sadness,  which  had  been 
lighter  of  late,  once  more  returned  to  her  face. 

It  is  probable  that  John  Morley  himself  was  oppressed 
by  this  likeness;  for  even  his  friendship  for  Grant  and 
Carl,  a  passive,  undemonstrative  sort  of  friendship,  was 
not  strong  enough  to  induce  him  to  traverse  the  market- 
square  of  Little  Aston,  and  approach  the  gates  of  Aston 
Court,  in  order  to  pay  a  wedding  visit  to  the  young  doctor 
and  his  bride.  Annie  Grant  went  to  see  him,  but  her  gay 
looks,  her  cheerful  voice,  and  the  bright  colors  of  her 
dress,  all  jarred  upon  his  morbid  nature.  After  her  visit, 
he  had  an  access  of  melancholy  which  reacted  upon  Hes- 
ter. They  felt  that  they  dwelt  apart  in  a  charmed  circle, 
which  they  could  not  pass,  and  which  no  other  could  en- 
ter. Yet  there  was  one  other  encircled  by  the  same  heavy 
chain  who  could  no  more  escape  from  it  than  they  could. 
Robert  Waldron  stood  aloof  from  all  the  small  festivities 
of  the  honeymoon  ;  and  his  obvious  melancholy  strength- 
ened the  link  between  him  and  Hester.  These  others,  so 
glad  and  happy,  and  hopeful,  what  had  they  in  common 
with  her  ?  Their  eyes  were  too  dazzled  with  light  to  see 
clearly  into  the  darkness  where  she  and  her  father  dwelt. 
She  loved  them  with  a  love  which  exxluded  envy,  but  fate 
placed  her  altogether  apart  from  them  all. 

She  did  not  go  so  often  as  she  might  have  done  to 
Grant's  house,  or  so  often  as  Carl  had,  unconsciously  to 
himself,  hoped  she  would  have  done.  He  did  not  associ- 
ate with  her  in  the  pleasant  familiarity  he  had  looked  for. 
To  be  sure  his  actions  were  now  free  from  the  hourly 
scrutiny  of  Miss  Waldron  ;  but  her  kindly  surveillance 
was  not  at  an  end.  The  distance  between  the  two  houses 
was  nqt  great,  and  there  was  no  part  of  the  town  to  trav- 
erse. She  could  come  up  in  the  most  negligent  and  be- 
goniing  morning  costqme,  or  even  with   a  shawl  thrown 


A    PERILOUS    PATH. 


227 


o»<=i  hei  evening  toilette,  to  spend  only  a  few  minutes  with 
dear  Mrs.  Grant,  at  the  most  unexpected  of  hours.  Her 
studies  were  growing  more  profound  than  ever,  and  Carl's 
Hebrew  and  Greek  were  in  perpetual  request.  She  soon 
knew  the  place  of  every  book  upon  his  shelves  better  than 
he  did,  and  often  employed  herself  with  setting  them  in 
order  for  him.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  grateful,  and 
he  strove  to  be  so.  It  was  impossible  for  him  not  to  be 
pleased  and  flattered. 

Robert  Waldron  did  not  miss  seeing  his  advantage, 
and  making  the  most  of  it.  Hester  went  the  oftener  to 
visit  Madame  Lawson,  because  she  could  take  no  pleasure 
in  going  to  Grant's  house  ;  and  he  did  not  fail  to  meet  her 
there  as  often  as  he  judged  it  prudent.  It  had  become  an 
unnecessary  thing  to  make  any  excuse  for  seeing  her  thus, 
as  Hester  had  fallen  into  a  habit  of  taking  it  tacitly  for 
granted.  In  a  place  so  small  as  Little  Aston  it  required 
some  tact  to  prevent  their  meetings  becoming  known  ;  but 
he  was  a  master  of  ingenuity.  Besides,  the  entrance  to 
the  court  was  not  commanded  by  any  window,  except 
those  of  the  house  where  old  Mr.  Watson  had  used  to 
live.  The  few  inmates  of  the  court  were  working  folks, 
who  had  enough  to  do  to  mind  their  own  business  :  and 
the  woman  of  the  house  he  gained  over  by  judicious  pre- 
sents. There  was  positively  no  danger,  either  to  Hester 
or  him,  of  their  secret  being  betrayed.  He  considered 
himself  advancing,  with  sure  and  steady  progress,  towards 
his  end. 

Hester's  new  melancholy  was  rather  a  soft  and  tender 
sadness  than  the  old.  hard,  gloomy  monotony  of  the  con 
tinual  weight  of  dejection.  There  is  a  moment  in  the 
early  dawn  when  the  growing  light  seems  to  tremble  and 
draw  back  a  little,  as  if  it  would  fain  linger  longer  in  the 
dark  mantle  of  the  night.     Such  a   moment  had  come  to 


228  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

Hester.  Her  eyes  had  caught  a  light  brightening  on  the 
horizon,  and  her  heart  had  felt  a  glow  of  warmth  reaching 
it ;  and  for  a  moment  or  two  longer  she  wished  to  keep 
her  eyes  closed,  and  take  back  the  familiar  chill  to  her 
heart.  She  knew  herself  no  more.  Caprices,  foreign  to 
her  hitherto,  had  gained  the  mastery  over  her.  Some- 
times a  passion  of  tears  shook  her  ;  at  others  a  vehement 
desire  to  exhaust  herself  by  action,  when  the  binding-press 
in  the  attic  seemed  like  a  refuge  to  her.  The  shrewd  old 
Frenchwoman  fancied  she  could  read  the  girl's  heart  like 
an  open  book  ;  and  a  hundred  cunning  little  wrink.es  net- 
ted themselves  about  her  eyes  and  lips.  She  assured  mi- 
lord Robert  that  before  long  it  would  be  quite  safe  to  tell 
Hester  of  his  love. 

It  was  the  hope,  both  of  Mr.  Waldron  and  Robert, 
that  Grant's  marriage  might  open  the  way  naturally  for 
once  more  inviting  Hester  to  visit  at  Aston  Court.  The 
small  festivities  attending  it  might  include  her.  When, 
therefore,  Miss  Waldron  announced  her  opinion  that  it 
would  be  but  a  graceful  courtesy  to  invite  Grant,  his  bride, 
and  Carl  to  dinner,  with  something  of  ceremony  and  state 
about  it,  Mr.  Waldron  gently  insinuated  that  Hester,  also, 
might  be  induced  to  join  them,  or  rather  that  John  Morley 
might  listen  to  the  invitation.  Miss  Waldron  would  prob- 
ably have  scouted  the  idea  with  indignation,  had  not  Rob- 
ert warmly  seconded  his  father.  She  knew  exactly  how 
far  she  could  venture  in  opposition  to  her  brother ;  and  it 
was  very  plain  that  he  had  so  set  his  heart  upon  this  as  to 
make  contradiction  dangerous. 

Tn  consequence,  Mr.  Waldron  was  permitted  to  intro- 
duce the  subject  to  John  Morley,  which  he  did  in  an  in- 
formal manner  at  the  close  of  a  Sunday  evening  service, 
judging  it  best  to  take  him  utterly  by  surprise.  Mr.  Wal- 
dron had  shaken  hands  with  Hester,  and  looked  into  hei 


A    PERILOUS    PATH.  229 

face  with  one  of  his  half-fatherly  glances  of  affection,  when 
he  turned  to  John  Morley  with  an  air  as  if  he  had  but  just 
thought  of  the  matter. 

"Bythe-by,  Mr.  Morley," — he  had  dropped  the  epi- 
thet, brother,  some  time  ago, — "  Grant  and  our  young 
minister,  with  Mrs.  Grant,  dine  with  us  to-morrow.  I 
think  you  ought  to  let  my  little  friend  Hester  come  with 
them.  She  wants  some  young  society.  Give  me  your 
promise  that  she  shall  come  to-morrow." 

He  waited  with  ill-concealed  anxiety  for  the  answer, 
and  John  Morley  looked  keenly  but  silently  at  him  ;  long- 
ing to  inquire  whether  Robert  was  at  Aston  Court,  for  he 
knew  nothing  of  his  movements,  yet  unable  to  pronounce 
his  name. 

"  Should   you  like    to  go,  Hester  ?"  he  asked. 

Hester's  heart  had  bounded  with  mingled  surprise  and 
pleasure  at  Mr.  Waldron's  invitation.  For  the  last  week 
or  two  time  had  been  very  monotonous  and  irksome  to 
her,  and  she  felt  a  girFs  natural  desire  for  some  change. 

Besides  there  was  no  shock  to  her  in  the  idea  of  meeting 
Robert  Waldron,  whom  she  had  seen  so  often  of  late. 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,  she  answered,  "  if  you 
would  not  be  grieved,  father." 

"  No,  no,"'  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  She  shall  come,  Mr. 
Waldron,  she  shall  come." 

John  Morley  drew  his  daughter's  hand  through  his  arm, 
as  they  passed  through  the  chapel  porch,  and  looked  down 
upon  her  questioningly  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  ha.-.jing  ove* 
the  entrance. 

"Hester,"  he  said,  with  a  new  tone  of  tenderness  in  his 
voice,  "Hester,  they  invite  you  now  to  their  parties.  Is  it 
that  you  are  grown  up  into  a  woman  ? " 

"I  suppose  so,  father,"  she  answered,  half  gayly  and 
half  sadlv. 


230  IIKSTKR    MORLKV'S    I'lvt^MISE. 

"  How  old  are  you  then,  child  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  nearly  twenty,"  she  replied. 

"  Twenty !"  echoed  John  Morley.  "And  I  have  taken 
MO  count  of  the  years!  Your  mother  was  older  than  you 
when  I  married  her  ;  and  she  has  been  dead  these  nineteen 
years.     Have  you  any  thought  of  being  married,  Hester?  " 

The  question  was  put  in  simple  seriousness,  but  in  the 
tone  rather  of  a  friend,  than  of  a  father,  who  might  expect 
to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter.  Hester's  hand  trembled  a 
little  upon  his  arm,  but  he  did  not  perceive  it. 

"  How  should  I,  father,"  she  said. 

"  Ah  !  how  should  you  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  You  see  no 
one,  and  know  no  one.  Yet,  my  child,  I  should  like  to 
know  that  you  were  happily  married.  When  I  think  of  it 
I  feel  that  I  have  done  you  a  great  wrong.  But  you  shall 
go  this  once  to  Aston  Court.  Have  you  any  pretty  dress 
you  can  wear,  child  .? " 

It  was  so  extraordinary  a  thing  for  John  Morley  to 
concern  himself  in  so  frivolous  a  subject  as  dress, — his 
own  or  anyone  else's — that  Hester  could  scarcely  believe 
she  had  heard  him  aright.  Her  wardrobe  was  scanty,  for 
money  was  scarce,  and  becoming  more  so  every  month ; 
but  she  assured  him,  with  an  evasion  very  like  a  deviation 
from  strict  truth,  that  she  should  do  very  well. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  when  they  had  reached  a  dark 
part  of  the  street,  and  she  could  not  see  his  face,  though 
she  could  detect  a  sharp  anguish  in  his  voice,  "  do  you 
know  if  his  son  is  at  home  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  softly,  and  pressing  his  arm  to 
her  side. 

"You  will  see  him,  and  speak  to  him,"  he  resumed, 
"  I  cannot.  God  forgive  me  in  this,  if  I  sin  in  it.  I  be- 
lieve it  would  kill  me  to  meet  either  of  them  ;  and  I  am 


A    PERILOUS    PATH.  23 1 

n-'t  fit  to  die  yet.     But  they  say  he  is  contrite  and  repent- 
ar.t.     I  give  you  my  consent  to  see  him." 

The  confession  that  she  had  already  seen  him  trem- 
bled upon  Hester's  lips  ;  but  the  recollection  of  his  pro- 
longed agony  of  despair  sealed  them.  If  she  had  had 
anything  definite  to  tell  him  about  Rose  she  would  have 
had  the  courage  to  do  it ;  but  to  say  only  that  she  was  lost 
would  be  simply  to  awaken  the  sharpness  of  his  grief 
again.  She  resolved  to  pursue  her  course  of  concealment, 
and  to  hide  everything  from  him  that  could  add  to  his  sor- 
row.    It  was  a  perilous  path  for  a  young  girl  to  choose. 

Robert  heard  that  Hester  was  positively  coming  to  As- 
ton Court,  with  a  delight  which  he  could  scarcely  disguise. 
Ever  since  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she,  and 
she  alone,  could  satisfy  his  fastidious  notions  of  what  his 
wife  must  be,  he  had  longed  to  avail  himself- of  the  advan- 
tages his  position  and  surroundings  gave  to  him.  Hitherto 
she  had  met  him  only  in  Madame  Lawson's  garret ;  and  he 
wished  her  to  see  him  in  his  own  sphere, — the  master  of 
a  position  which  must  dazzle  her  young  mind.  He  con- 
trasted with  self-gratulation  the  sumptuous  elegance  and 
costly  taste  which  he  had  introduced  into  his  father's  man- 
sion, with  the  bareness  and  poverty  of  her  own  home. 
All  the  next  morning  he  sauntered  about  the  handsome 
rooms,  and  the  terraces,  where  still  lingered  much  of 
beauty,  even  in  the  later  days  of  autumn.  He  pleased 
himself  with  picturing  Hester  at  his  side,  expressing  more 
by  looks  than  words  her  shy  pleasure  in  this  loveliness 
and  luxury.  By  a  curious  perversity  of  reasoning,  he  had 
begun  to  regard  a  marriage  with  her  as  a  fitting  compen- 
sation for  the  wrong  he  had  been  giu'lty  of  towards  her 
family.  He  felt  sure  that  he  could  make  his  father  ac- 
knov>'ledge  the  strength  of  his  arguments  ;  but  how  could 


232  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

lie  convince  John  Morley  ?  He  must  secure  Hester's  love 
first. 

The  evening  came,  and  the  hour  when  Hester  should 
arrive.  Miss  Waldron  had  sent  a  carriage  to  Grant's 
house,  for  Carl  was  suflfering  from  a  cold,  which  made  it 
necessary  to  load  him  with  most  gentle  attentions.  She 
had,  however,  let  Hester  slip  out  of  her  mind ;  and  as  An- 
nie Grant  and  Carl  had  no  knowledge  of  her  accepted  in- 
vitation, they  had,  of  course,  come  without  her.  Robert 
felt  a  wrathful  pang  of  disappointment ;  though  he  was 
not  altogether  sorry  that  Carl  and  Hester  had  not  been 
riding  in  the  same  carriage.  Mr.  Waldron  himself  was 
keenly  disappointed.  The  night  was  dark  and  foggy,  and 
Hester  had  no  one  to  escort  her  through  the  lonely  park. 
Miss  Waldron  said  she  was  sorry  with  a  lurking  smile  of 
satisfaction,  and  busied  herself  to  see  that  Carl  had  the 
warmest  seat  by  the  fire.  Robert  made  no  complaint,  but 
went  out  quietly  to  order  the  carriage  back  to  Little  As- 
ton, and  at  the  moment  that  he  passed  through  the  hall, 
the  large  doors  were  thrown  open  by  a  servant,  and  Hes- 
ter herself  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

She  stood  still  for  an  instant,  with  a  glance,  halffright- 
ened,  into  the  great  hall,  which  was  brilliantly  lit  up. 
Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  her  breath  came  flutter- 
ingly  with  the  speed  at  which  she  had  been  walking,  and 
her  large  grey  eyes  were  still  deep  and  dark  with  the 
darkness  through  which  she  had  come.  The  night,  with 
its  thick  fog,  looked  black  behind  her,  while  the  colored 
pavement  of  the  hall  and  the  stained  glass  of  the  lamp 
over  her  head,  made  the  foreground  rich  in  tone.  The 
strong  contrast  of  light  and  shadow,  with  Hester  standing 
on  the  line  which  separated  them,  looking  lonelv,  embar- 
rassed, and  timid,  formed  a  perfect  picture  to  Robert's 
f-yes.  He  hurried  forward  to  welcome  her,  and  the  ser- 
vant drew  back  respectfully. 


A    PERILOUS    PATH.  233 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  come  all  alone  V  "  he  asked. 

"  I  had  no  one  to  come  with  me,"  she  replied.  "  I  went 
to  Mrs.  Grant's,  but  she  was  gone.  I  was  obliged  to  walk 
on  alone  or  return  home.'' 

"  Did  you  wish  to  come  so  much  ?  "  he  said,  lowering  his 
voice.     "  Are  you,  then,  glad  to  be  here  again,  Hetty  ?" 

Her  answer  was  not  ready,  and  her  eyes  drooped  till  he 
could  seethe  nervous  quivering  of  the  long  eyelashes. 

^'  I  think  I  am,"  she  said  at  last ;  ''  I  am  not  sure.  In 
some  things  it  seems  scarcely  right  to  be  here  ;  but  still  1 
am  a  little  glad." 

The  gladness  was  so  qualified,  and  the  qualification  so 
conscientiously  expressed,  that  Robert  did  not  know  whai 
to  reply. 

"Go  and  take  off  your  shawl,"  he  said,  touching  it  lightly 
with  his  hand  •  "  I  will  wait  here  for  you  to  take  you  in  the 
drawing-room." 

He  watched  her  intently  as  she  followed  his  sister's  maid 
up  the  broad  low  steps  of  the  staircase  with  a  subdued  and 
quiet  grace  which  was  perfectly  in  tune  with  his  matured 
taste.  He  paced  up  and  down  the  hall,  chafing  at  every 
moment  she  was  away.  There  were  twenty  minutes  yet  till 
the  hour  for  dinner,  and  he  would  keep  her  all  to  himself 
for  that  short  period.  Impatient  as  he  was,  he  did  not  see 
her  descend  the  staircase,  and  did  not  know  she  was  close 
beside  him,  so  noiseless  was  her  approach,  until  she  spoke 
in  tremulous  accents,  and  then  he  started  violently.  There 
was  a  scarcely-mastered  excitement  in  herself  which  lent  a 
color  to  her  cheek,  and  when  she  placed  her  hand  upon 
his  offered  arm,  he  felt  that  it  was  trembling. 

"  We  will  not  go  into  the  drawing-room  just  yet,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  have  a  painting  or  tw'o  to  show  you." 

He  led  her  into  a  room  which  had  been  built  especial- 
ly for  his  own  use,  since   his   return   to  Aston   Court.     It 


234  IlKSTKR    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

was  lofty  and  spacious,  and  waiiiscotted  throughout  by 
carved  panels  of  some  light  wood  wh.ich  had  a  pleasant 
lustre  upon  its  surface.  There  were  a  few  good  pictures 
and  liere  and  there  a  handsome  cabinet  or  book-case.  Ai 
oue  end  was  an  organ  which  he  had  ordered  to  be  mwlc 
for  this  particular  place,  that  the  volume  of  sound  should 
suit  the  space  exactly  ;  for  he  had  become  almost  a  mas- 
ter of  music.  A  piano  stood  beside  the  organ.  There 
was  nothing  of  beauty  or  luxury  lacking  which  his  heart 
could  desire  ;  and  over  all  a  soft  light  was  shed  by  shaded 
lamps.  He  led  Hester  to  the  hearth,  and  placed  her  in  a 
low  chair  before  the  fire.  There  he  stood,  with  his  arm 
resting  on  the  mantel-piece,  looking  down  upon  her  droop- 
ing head  and  shy,  almost  awkward,  attitude  of  embarrass- 
ment. How  poorly  she  was  dressed,  in  her  grey  stuff" 
gown,  with  her  sole  ornament,  a  little  silver  brooch,  fas- 
tening the  collar  round  her  graceful  throat.  There  was 
not  a  maid-servant  in  the  Court  who  could  not  have  put  on 
a  smarter  dress  to  go  out  on  a  visit.  It  would  form  an 
odd  contrast  with  his  sister's  toilette,  and  the  unfaded 
finery  of  the  young  wife.  But  he  liked  it  well.  The  very 
poverty  and  simplicity  of  Hester's  ajDpearance  was  charm- 
ing to  him.  Perhaps  she  guessed  jjartly  what  he  was 
thinking  about  as  liis  downward  gaze  scrutinized  her,  foi 
she  glanced  up  to  him  with  a  smile  of  singular  archness 
and  sweetness. 

"  I  am  not  very  fit  for  such  a  grand  place,"  she  said. 

Not  fit  for  such  a  grand  place  !  Robert's  heart  bound- 
ed, and  the  blood  tingled  through  his  veins.  What  did 
Hester  mean,  wont  as  she  often  was  to  betray  her  thoughts 
with  innocent  frankness?  Has  she  been  thinking  of  her- 
self as — as — .'  Robert  could  not  finish  the  sentence  in 
his  own  mind.  What  should  he  say  to  her?  It  would  be 
something  excessively  significant,  or  excessively  common- 
place.    How  much  dare  he  say  to  her? 


A    PERILOUS    PATH.  235 

The  opportunity  of  saying  anything  was  snatched  from 
him ;  for,  while  he  hesitated,  the  door  opened,  and  Mr. 
Waldron  made  his  appearance.  He  did  not  see  Hester 
until  she  rose  from  her  low  chair,  and  then  he  arrested 
himself  with  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"Why,  Robert !     AVhy,  Hester  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

Robert  was  never  at  a  loss  as  to  what  to  say  to  his 
father,  and  now  he  found  himself  able  to  speak  fluently. 

"  I  found  Miss  Morley  just  come  in,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
as  she  was  both  cold  and  agitated  by  her  lonely  walk 
through  the  park,  I  brought  her  in  here  for  a  few  minutes 
before  taking  her  into  the  drawing-room." 

"  Oh  ! "  was  all  that  Air.  Waldron  could  at  first  reply. 
He  knew  that  his  son  must  have  seen  Hester  at  the  time 
that  he  was  lying  ill  in  John  Morley's  house;  but  he  had 
no  idea  that  any  intimacy  could  have  been  founded  upon 
that  ill-omened  introduction.  He  recovered,  however, 
from  his  profound  amazement  enough  to  give  Hester  a 
most  cordial  welcome ;  and  then  he  conducted  her  himself 
to  join  the  rest  of  the  party. 

It  was  a  more  than  usually  pleasant  evening  both  to 
Miss  Waldron  and  Robert.  She  kept  possession  of  Carl, 
and  paid  him  every  possible  attention ;  while  Robert 
scarcely  quitted  Hester's  side.  This  devotion  did  not 
escape  his  sister's  observation,  but  it  served  her  purpose 
well ;  and  she  could  not  descry  any  danger  in  it.  It  kept 
Carl  away  from  Hester,  and  threw  him  solely  upon  her 
blandishments.  Robert's  delight  in  Hester  increased 
hour  after  hour  ;  and  when  the  e\ening  was  ended,  and 
she  had  gone  away,  this  time  in  the  carriage  which  also 
contained  Carl,  he  resolved  to  ask  his  father's  counsel 
ind  consent  to  his  marriage  with  John  Morley's  daughter 
before  many  more  days  had  passed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  HUSBAND   FOR    HESTER, 

FOR  several  months  past  Mr.  Waldron's  first  earthly 
wish  had  been,  as  we  know,  to  see  his  son  married. 
He  was  satisfied  for  his  daughter  to  remain  unmarried,  as 
she  adorned  a  single  life  by  so  much  zeal  and  devotion  ; 
and  perhaps  he  was  reconciled  to  it  the  more  readily  as 
his  family  name  would  not  be  transmitted  through  her  to 
posterit}'.  But  already  Robert  had  attained  an  age  when 
a  man  grows  more  difficult  to  please,  and  more  discrimi- 
nating as  to  feminine  perfections.  Hester  ought  to  have 
been  a  hundred-fold  more  flattered  by  his  preference  than 
she  could  have  been  by  the  love  of  Carl  Bramwell.  Mr. 
Waldron's  search  after  a  daughter-in-law,  whose  price 
should  be  above  rubies,  was  becoming  an  almost  despair- 
ing pursuit;  and  Robert  gave  him  no  assistance.  On  the 
contrary,  he  appeared  to  be  settling  down  into  an  indolent, 
self-indulgent  bachelorhood.  The  day  following  that  on 
which  he  had  found  Hester  seated  at  Robert's  fireside, 
with  him  leaning  over  her  in  a  lover-like  attitude  that  had 
struck  him  with  amazement,  the  father  and  son  walked 
out  amicably  together  over  the  farm-lands  belonging  to 
Aston  Court.  Both  felt  that  the  time  was  come  when 
they  must  speak  to  one  another  upon  that  which  occupied 
their  thoughts ;  and  Robert  preferred  doing  so  as  far  from 
the  presence  of  Miss  Waldron  as  possible.  He  accom- 
panied his  father  to  the   end  of  a  stubble-field  which  was 


A    HUSBAND    FOR    HESTER.  237 

to  lie  fallow  during  the  winter,  and  then  he  commenced 
the  conversation  in  as  composed  a  tone  as  it' he  were  mak- 
ing some  agricultural  observations. 

"I  think,  father,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  time  I  married." 

Mr.  VValdron  planted  his  stick  firmly  into  the  soil,  as 
.f  he  intended  it  to  take  root  there,  and  gazed  anxiously 
into  his  son's  face. 

'•  To  be  sure,  Robert ;  to  be  sure,"  he  cried. 

"  You  were  surprised  to  find  Hester  alone  with  me 
yesterday,"  he  continued. 

"  I  was,"  replied  Mr.  Waldron,  briefly. 

"Father,"  he  resumed,  stammering  a  little,  "it  was 
not  at  all  the  first  time  I  have  seen  her  of  late.  We  know 
one  another  very  well.  The  fact  is,  I  happened  to  meet 
with  her  in  the  house  of  an  old  Frenchwoman." 

""Vou  don't  mean  the  mother  of  John  Morley's  work- 
man ?  "  interrupted  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  Yes,"  said  Robert,  '"  I  have  met  her  there  many  times 
during  the  last  few  months." 

"Robert,"  interrupted  his  father  again,  with  an  expres- 
sion and  tone  the  most  severe  he  could  assume  towards 
him,  "you  cannot  mean  to  tell  me  that  you,  a  man  of  the 
world,  knowing  how  ready  the  world  is  to  gossip,  can  have 
taken  advantage  of  Hester's  ignorance  to  draw  her  into  a 
clandestine  intercourse  with  you  .'' " 

"I  have,"  owned  Robert,  in  some  confusion. 

"  [  wonder  how  you  dare  to  confess  it,"  continued  Mr. 
Waldron,  leaning  heavily  upon  his  stick,  as  if  his  son's  words 
had  wounded  him  deeply;  "  she  is  so  simple,  so  unsuspect- 
ing !  She  did  not  knov;  to  what  censure  she  exposed  her- 
self.    Suppose  your  sister  had  found  it  out  !  " 

Mr.  Waldron's  face  wore  an  aspect  of  real  te-t:r  ;  but 
Robert  smiled  a  little  to  himself. 

"  I  took  care  that  nobody  should  know,  "  he  said  ; "  you 


238  JIESTICR   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

need  not  be  afraid  for  Hester.  But  now  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  me  say  that  I  love  her  more  than  any 
woman  I  ever  saw  ;  ay,  more  than  I  ever  supposed  I  could 
love.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  can  be  no  love  in  the 
world  like  that  I  feel  for  my  little  Hetty.  " 

Robert's  handsome  face,  with  its  new  air  of  profound 
and  passionate  tenderness,  looked  handsomer  than  ever  as 
he  spoke ;  and  his  father,  regarding  him  fondly,  fancied 
that  any  woman  would  forgive  him  any  previous  folly. 

"  But  have  you  forgotten  the  past,"  he  said. 

"  Forgotten  it !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  have  you  or  my  sister 
suffered  me  to  forget  it .''  Forget  it !  Why,  I  have  only  to  look 
into  Hester's  face  with  all  its  sweetness  and  beauty,  and 
there  I  see  my  sin  written  legibly  in  its  sad  Hues,  How 
can  I  forget,  when  it  is  Hester  herself  I  love,  in  spite  ot 
everything.  " 

"But  what  can  be  done.'"'  asked  Mr.  Waldron,  desponcl- 
ingly. 

"  I  want  to  atone  to  her  for  all  these  years  she  has  lost," 
he  answered,  with  vehement  earnestness.  "  I  will  make 
her  after-life  so  bright  that  she  shall  forget  all  early  sorrow. 
I  will  lift  her  out  of  the  miserable  confined  lot  that  is  hers, 
and  give  her  a  rank  and  wealth  she  could  never  reach  with- 
out me.  If  she  was  but  my  wife  I  should  have  no  fear  for 
her  happiness." 

"  But  it  is  morally  impossible,"  objected  Mr.  Waldron  ; 
"  John  Morley — " 

"  He  must  consent,"  interrupted  Robert,  "  if  I  only 
make  sure  of  Hester.  He  is  very  poor,  almost  to  bank- 
ruptcy. He  is  ageing  fast,  and  Hester's  future  must  be 
an  anxiety  to  him.  He  is  already  reconciled  to  you,  and 
has  allowed  her  to  visit  here,  knowing  that  she  must  meet 
me.  If  you  will  only  help  me,  he  will  come  round  in  time. 
He  must — he  shall." 


A   HUSBAND   FOR   HESTER.  239 

For  a  few  minutes  both  father  and  son  were  plunged 
in  profound  thought.  The  rooks  flew  heavily  above  their 
heads,  disturbed  by  their  presence,  and  manifesting  their 
discontent  by  hoarse  cawing.  Tlie  young  cattle  came 
near  enough  to  contemplate  them  with  their  brown  eyes. 
There  was  a  sharp  struggle  going  on  in  Mr.  Waldron's 
mind  which  was  scarcely  visible  in  his  face,  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  hide  his  emotions.  He  was,  as  his  old  minister 
had  told  him,  a  proud  man  ;  and  he  had  sometimes  re- 
garded John  Morley  as  a  person  in  a  very  inferior  posi- 
tion. John  Morley  was,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than  a 
tradesman,  and  one  in  difficult  circumstances ;  and  it  was 
his  only  son,  his  heir,  who  wished  to  bring  the  daughter 
of  the  poor  bookseller  into  his  wealthy  family  as  his  wife. 
Yet  Hester  was  so  pretty,  so  simple,  so  clever ;  she  was 
so  good  also,  that,  but  for  the  accident  of  her  birth,  there 
could  be  no  one  more  worthy  of  being  his  daughter-in-law. 
Besides,  Robert  was  very  obstinate  if  he  was  opposed. 
He  would  refuse  to  look  out  for  a  more  suitable  wife,  if  he 
should  deny  him  his  consent  and  ass'starice. 

"  I  talked  about  it  with  Mr.  Watson  before  his  death," 
said  Robert,  at  last  breaking  throuf,a  the  silence,  "  and  he 
said  he  did  not  see  any  insuperable  difficulties,  or  any  in- 
surmountable objections  in  the  way.  He  did  not  seem  to 
see  them  so  clearly  as  I  did." 

"  He  was  a  timid  man,"  replied  his  father,  "  and  would 
agree  to  all  you  said.     But  how  did  he  come  to  know  of  ' 
before  me  ? " 

"He  saw  me  once  or  twice  follow  Hester  into  the 
court,"  he  answered,  ''  and  he  had  courage  enough  <:o 
speak  very  faithfully  on  the  subject,  I  assure  you.  Well, 
he  did  not  see  why  Hester  should  not  in  time  become  my 
wife.  He  said,  however,  that  it  would  be  more  likely  Xo 
come  to  pass  if  we  only  knew  for  certain  that  poor  Rose 


240  HESTER    MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

was  dead.  It  is  my  firm  conviction  that  she  is  dead  ;  but 
I  can  get  no  proofs." 

"  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  earnestly,  "  you  are  los- 
ing sight  of  John  Morley's  implacable  hatred.  Ah  !  my 
boy,  you  kept  from  me  the  history  of  that  blow  which  al- 
most killed  you  last  February.  It  was  then  you  first  saw 
Hester  and  fell  in  love  with  her.  I  do  not  wonder  at  it. 
But  do  you  imagine  that  if  he  seeks  your  life,  you  can  ever 
gain  his  consent  or  hers  ?  " 

"  I  think,"'  answered  Robert,  "that  his  revenge  spent 
itself  in  that  blow.  He  is  a  good  man,  a  religious  man. 
He  was  hurried  by  a  sudden  passion  into  the  attempt  to 
commit  that  crime ;  but  as  it  failed, — luckily  for  me, — he 
soon  repented  of  it,  and  was  not  sorry  to  extend  his  kind- 
ness to  me.  We  have  now  something  to  forgive  one  an- 
other. I  am  more  equal  with  him,  and  that  is  so  much  in 
my  favor.  Why  else  was  he  so  hospitable  and  kind  towards 
ma  ?  He  visited  me  once,  and  spoke  as  a  friend  would 
have  done.  He  knew  Hester  saw  me  often,  and  yesterday 
he  allowed  her  to  come  once  more  to  our  house.  I  hard- 
ly dared  to  hope  before  ;  but  now  with  you  to  help  me,  I 
shall  win  Hester  as  my  wife." 

His  face,  dearer  to  Mr.  Waldron  even  than  that  of  his 
daughter,  shone  with  more  gladness  and  hope  than  had 
been  seen  upon  it  for  many  years.  His  father  could  ob- 
ject no  longer,  but  gave  his  hand  a  warm  and  fervent 
grasp. 

"  I  will  help  you,  my  boy,"  he  said  ;  "  yet  I  had  my  own 
little  scheme  for  Hester,  and  it  is  possible  it  may  prove  in 
your  way  now.  The  moment  1  set  my  eyes  on  young 
Bramwell,  I  thought  he  would  make  a  good  husband  for 
the  little  girl.  They  were  both  so  young,  so  good,  and  so 
handsome.  Our  family  owes  John  Morley  a  compensa- 
tion, and  I  fancied   I  had  found  it  in  liim      I  would  have 


A    HUSBAND    FOR    HESTER.  24I 

S^iven  her  a  wedding  dowry  that  would  have  made  them 
ahnost  independent  of  his  Church,  wherevei  he  goes.  But 
now  I  hope  he  will  not  be  in  your  way." 

He  looked  anxious  lest  he  should  himself  have  de- 
stroyed the  chances  of  his  son's  happiness.  Robert  also 
was  grave,  counting  up  all  the  symptoms  he  had  detected 
of  love  between  Carl  and  Hester.  They  were  very  few, 
almost  none.  It  had  not  escaped  his  notice  that  his  sister 
was  making  herself  foolish,  as  he  termed  it,  about  the  elo- 
quent young  preacher,  ten  years  her  junior,  and  he  built 
some  hopes  upon  that ;  the  more  so  as  Carl  came  fre- 
quently to  Aston  Court  and  spent  a  good  deal  of  time 
with  Miss  Waldron.  Under  other  circumstances  he  would 
probably  have  manifested  his  disapprobation  of  such  an 
intimacy  with  unmistakable  plainness,  but  he  hailed  it  as 
a  sign  that  Carl  preferred  his  sister's  mature  piety  to  Hes- 
ter's girlish  prettiness  ;  and  he  was  more  than  content  to 
let  the  intimacy  run  a  smooth  course. 

"  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  him,"  he  said  ;  "  yet  I  should 
have  been  quite  as  well  pleased  if  you  had  chosen  a  more 
commonplace  man  for  Little  Aston." 

"  I  chose  him  for  Hester,"  replied  Mr.  Waldron,  in  a 
tone  which  betrayed  a  lingering  reluctance  to  abandon  his 
favorite  scheme  ;  "  they  are  just  suited  for  each  other.  I 
thought  so  last  night.  I  wish  you  could  give  up  this 
notion,  Robert." 

"  Never  !"  he  exclaimed,  vehemently.  "  I  tell  you  I 
worship  her.  She  is  the  only  woman  who  can  make  me 
care  for  goodness  or  religion,  or  things  of  that  sort.  J 
have  had  enough  to  disgust  me  with  it,  but  Hester  makes 
it  soothing  and  pleasant  again.  If  I  am  ever  to  be  an\-- 
thing  but  the  idle,  purposeless  fellow  I  am,  doing  no  good 
in  life,  it  will  be  by  winning  Hester." 
-     Mr.  Waldron  sighed  deeply,  buf  he  did  not  attempt  to 


242  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

explain  his  sigh.  Robert's  state  of  mind  was  still,  as  it  had 
always  been,  a  grief  to  him  ;  but  he  had  come  to  the  point 
of  no  longer  pressing  religious  expostulation  upon  him. 
His  sigh,  however,  included  something  more  than  that. 
There  was  a  misgiving  in  it  lest  Carl,  whom  he  had  brought 
to  Little  Aston  for  the  very  purpose,  had  not  already 
gained  possession  of  Hester's  love.  But  deeper  still  lay  an 
unconquerable  dread  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  over- 
come John  Morley's  instinctive  repugnance  to  give  his 
daughter  to  the  man  who  had  brought  so  indelible  a  stigma 
upon  his  name.  Every  one  else  might  plead  the  youth 
and  thouglitlessness  of  the  college  lad,  for  Robert  had  been 
little  more  than  that ;  but  could  it  be  hoped  for  that  dishon- 
ored husband  should  thus  excuse  him,  or  could  ever  be 
brought  to  look  upon  his  conduct  as  the  careless  folly  of  a 
boy  who  had  not  learned  to  master  his  passions.^  They 
walked  homewards  in  almost  unbroken  silence,  and  Mr. 
Waldron  shut  himself  up  in  his  private  room  to  deliberate 
upon  all  the  bearings  of  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CONSULTING   CARL. 

THE  more  Mr.  Waldron  considered  the  subject  upon 
which  Robert  had  consulted  with  him,  the  more  du- 
bious he  grew  as  to  the  possibility  of  winning  over  John 
Morley,  unless,  indeed,  Hester's  own  happiness  should  de- 
pend upon  his  consent.  He  endeavored  to  place  himself 
in  the  position  of  the  dishonored  man  ;  but  the  power  of 
seeing  with  other  people's  eyes  cannot  be  acquired  at  the 
ige  of  sixty-eight.  He  saw  his  son,  handsome,  accomplish- 
ed, and  rich,  with  a  brilliant  lot  to  offer  ;  and  he  could  see 
Hester  clearl}',  as  a  very  eligible  daughter-in-law  in  every 
respect,  except  by  birth.  There  had  been  always  a  pecu- 
liar softness  in  his  heart  towards  Hester, — an  anticipatory 
tenderness,  perhaps.  He  would  like  exceedingly  to  have 
her  always  near  to  him.  But  John  Morley  was,  as  he  al- 
ways had  been,  wrapped  in  an  impenetrable  mystery.  He 
could  no  more  understand  him,  members  as  they  were  of 
the  same  church,  than  Peter  could  understand  his  beloved 
brother  Paul. 

Mr.  Waldron  glanced  but  briefly  towards  the  world, 
though,  no  doubt,  it  would  have  something  to  say  to  such 
a  marriage.  Ten  years  ago  its  tongue  had  been  busy  with 
the  story  of  Robert's  sin  ;  and  the  world  has  a  retentive 
memory  for  scandals.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  easier  to 
pacify  John  Morley  himself  than  to  satisfy  its  scruples, 
sometimes  more  exacting  and  delicate  than  those  of  an 


244  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

individual  conscience.  But  Mr.  VValdron  was  not  accus 
tomed  to  consider  the  world.  He  had  long  since  turned 
his  back  upon  it,  and  treated  its  opinions  with  contempt. 
If  he  approved  of  the  matter,  and  the  Church  supported 
him,  he  could  very  well  afford  to  leave  all  question  of  the 
world  out  of  the  transaction. 

To  make  sure  of  the  pastor  was  one  means  of  securing 
the  approbation  of  the  Church.  He  did  not  wish  to  star- 
tle or  shock  that  small  congregation  of  faithful  men  over 
whom  he  and  Carl  Bramwell  presided.  They  were  a  sim- 
ple, uncultivated  class,  not  accustomed  to  split  straws,  but 
it  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  they  might  be 
scandalized  by  his  son's  marriage  with  Hester  Morley. 
There  was  a  broad  though  undefined  code  of  Christian 
morality  written  most  plainly  upon  unsophisticated  hearts 
which  he  was  afraid  of  transgressing  ;  and  upon  this  one 
weak  point  he  yearned  for  the  sympathy  of  his  fellow- 
churchmen.  It  was  not  a  formal  approbation  that  he 
could  receive  or  they  give,  but  simply  the  encouragement 
of  unchanged  looks  and  undiminished  reverence.  He  re- 
solved, first  of  all,  to  sound  their  young  pastor. 

It  was  late  in  the  November  afternoon,  and  Carl  was 
deeply  absorbed  in  study,  with  that  utter  oblivion  of  the 
outer  life  which  is  known  only  to  students.  Certainly 
there  was  a  pleasant  impression  of  the  previous  evening 
hovering  about  him  like  a  sunny  mist,  and  mingling  subtly 
with  every  movement  of  his  thoughts.  He  came  up  from 
the  depths  at  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Waldron  into  his  study, 
with  something  of  the  bewilderment  of  a  pearl-diver  who 
has  been  long  under  the  water.  It  was  not  for  a  moment 
or  two  quite  clear  to  himself  who  he  was,  or  who  was  the 
intruder  coming  in  with  all  the  freedom  and  ease  of  a  pa- 
tron. 

"  I  wish  to  have  a  confidential  conversation  with  you," 


CONSULTING   CARL.  245 

said  Mr.  VValdron,  after  a  few  minutes'  desultory  talk ;  it 
is  strictly  a  family  matter.  You  are  already  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  circumstances  of  my  son's  sojourn  in 
John  Morley's  house." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Carl,  starting  into  a  very  keen, 
quick-eared  attention. 

"You  know,  too,  the  whole  history  of  his  second  wife," 
he  continued  ;  "  I  am  far  from  casting  undue  blame  upon 
her,  but  she  was  a  giddy,  childish  young  woman,  with  no 
steady  principles  to  protect  her.  There  had  been  some 
love-making  between  her  and  Robert  at  Oxford,  before  she 
had  ever  seen  John  Morley.  She  was  fully  as  old  as  he 
was,  therefore,  as  a  woman,  she  may  be  considered  several 
years  older.  She  came  here,  heard  nothing  of  Robert  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  at  last  married  for  a  home.  Yon  know  the 
rest." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carl,  his  elbow  resting  on  his  desk  and 
his  hand  shading  his  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,"  resumed  Mr.  Waldron,  "  what  you  suppose 
the  consequences  must  be  to  my  son  ?  He  has  long  since 
repented  of  his  sin.  Is  he  to  bear  the  burden  of  it  his  life 
through  ?" 

"  Nay,"  answered  Carl,  his  lips  parting  with  a  smile  of 
great  tenderness  ;  "  you,  who  are  an  elder  in  the  Church, 
know  the  grace  of  God  better  than  I  can  do.  There  is  no 
burden  of  sin  we  may  not  cast  away  before  the  face  of  the 
Father." 

"  But  are  the  consequences  to  remain  ?"  asked  Mr.  Wal- 
dron. "  Is  he  always  to  bear  the  stigma  of  his  sin  ?  Is  he 
not  free  to  act  as  if  he  had  never  been  guilty  ?  Ought  the 
transgression  to  be  forgiven  by  every  man  as  well  as  by 
God  ?" 

Carl  paused.  There  was  a  swift  current  of  sympathy 
and  love  running  clear  and  unobstructed  through  his  young 


246  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

spirit  which  carried  him  irresistibly  towards  the  side  of 
mercy.  He  was  as  yet  a  mere  student  in  human  nature, 
and  had  no  actual  wrestle  with  temptation.  He  had  not 
seen  sin  face  to  face.  At  present  it  was  a  veiled  and  awful 
form  for  him  ;  he  had  not  beheld  its  hideous  features,  and 
received  the  ineffliceable  memory  upon  his  heart. 

"'None  of  the  sins  that  he  hath  committed  shall  be 
mentioned  unto  him,'  "  he  said  in  a  lowered  and  reverent 
voice. 

"  You  yourself  would  act  upon  that,"  pursued  Mr.  Wal- 
dron.  "  My  son  is  the  same  in  your  eyes  as  though  he 
never  was  guilty  of  this  sin." 

"Perhaps  not  altogether  that,"  answered  Carl  ;  "but 
who  among  us  would  enforce  a  penalty  if  God  does  not  ? 
If  He  will  make  no  more  mention  of  his  transgression, 
why  should  we  ?" 

It  was  ^Ir.  Waldron's  turn  to  pause  and  reflect.  His 
anxious  face  grew  darker,  and  the  knotted  veins  in  his 
forehead  became  larger.  He  did  not  feel  quite,  sure  of 
Robert's  repentance,  though  he  longed  to  believe  in  it. 
He  wished  to  believe  that  his  own  prayers  through  so  many 
years,  had  not  faile(J  in  the  court  of  heaven.  Perseverance 
in  an  earthly  court  must  have  prevailed  before  this.  He 
argued  illogically.  Because  he  had  so  earnestly  prayed 
that  his  son  might  truly  repent,  his  professed  repentance 
must  be  sincere. 

"Mr.  Bramvvell,  "he  said,  suddenly,  "  what  do  yoa 
think  of  Hester  Morley  .?'' 

If  Carl  had  been  asked  unexpectedly  what  he  thought 
of  the  cherubim,  he  could  not  have  been  more  stupefied  or 
at  a  loss.  He  gazed  blankly  at  Mr.  Waldron,  and  did  not 
reply  till  that  gentleman  repeated  the  question. 

"  Oh  !  I  think  she  is  very  good,"'  he  answered  somewha( 


CONSULTING    CAKL.  247 

coldly  ;  "  she  is  a  member  of  the  Church,  and  an  excellent 
daughter.     My  sister  is  very  much  attached  to  her.'' 

"  You  have  not  seen  much  of  her  ?  "  remarked  Mr.  Wal- 
dron. 

"  Very  little,"  he  replied. 

"Would  it  astonish  you;"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  hesita- 
ting ;  "  would  it  shock  you  in  any  way  if  you  heard  that  my 
son,  having  seen  her  a  good  deal  while  he  was  ill  this 
spring,  was  very  anxious,  nay,  bent  upon  making  her  his 
wife  ?" 

"  Impossible  !"  ejaculated  Carl,  starting  from  his  seat 
as  if  he  had  been  shot.  He  took  a  hasty  turn  or  two  across 
his  study,  and  then  came  back  to  his  chair  opposite  his  visi- 
tor. "  I  think  I  must  have  misunderstood  you,"  he  said 
with  a  ghastly  effort  at  a  smile.  "  Did  you  say  that  Mr. 
Robert  Waldron  wishes  to  make"  the  daughter  of  John  Mor- 
ley  his  wife  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Waldron,  briefly. 

"It  is  impossible  !"  said  Carl.  "Your  son's  sin  de- 
mands great  charity  from  us  ;  but  he  must  not  ask  Hester 
to  share  the  burden  he  has  to  bear  all  his  life  long.  Oh,  it 
would  not  be  possible  I" 

"  But  is  my  son  never  to  marry  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Waldron. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Carl  ;  "  let  him  find  some  one  with  a 
spirit  which  would  not  be  bowed  down  by  such  a  burden. 
But  Hester  is  too  young,  too  ignorant  of  life,  too  simple- 
hearted.  He  would  do  well  with  a  wife  like  his  sister, 
strong  in  her  own  faith,  and  able  to  fight  with  him  against 
his  spiritual  foes.  Why  should  Hester's  young  and  innocent 
heart  be  joined  to  one  which  must  ever  bear  the  sting  of 
a  sore  repentance  ?" 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  as 
Carl  paused  ;  "  a  very  young  man.  Tliere  are  scores,  hun- 
dreds of  marriages, — ay  !    and  happy  ones, — where  there 


248  HESTER    MORLEV'S    I'ROMISE. 

has  been  an  early  folly  like  this.  Hester  would  be  rich, 
happy,  and  beloved.  If  John  Morley  should  be  reconciled 
to  Robert,  he  would  become  a  member  of  our  Church,  and 
would  be  ready  to  take  my  place  in  it  when  I  am  gone. 
Moreover,  there  was  a  something  in  Hester's  manner  last 
night  which  makes  me  hope  that  she  is  not  averse  to  Rob- 
ert. You  may  have  seen  it  yourself— a  pretty,  pensive, 
gentle  pleasure  in  listening  to  him." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Carl,  who  had  watched  Hester  furtively 
during  the  whole  of  the  previous  evening,  and  who  had 
seen  every  little  gesture  and  every  expression  of  enjoyment 
that  had  escaped  her. 

"Then  if  she  loves  him,"  resumed  Mr.  Waldron,  "and 
if  that  folly  of  his  youth  should  not  be  remembered  against 
him  now  he  is  a  man,  I  see  no  impediment-  to  their  mar- 
riage. I  see  in  it  rather  a  compensation  for  the  past.  If 
John  Morley's  poverty  and  shame  have  come  from  us,  sure- 
ly the  honor  of  marrying  his  daughter  into  our  family  ought 
to  balance  it.     Do  you  agree  with  me  ?" 

CarFs  restless  hand  moved  absently  among  his  papers. 
His  face  had  grown  pale,  and  his  bright,  keen  sight,  dim. 
Until  this  moment  he  had  looked  at  John  Morley's  misery 
from  the  outside.  By  temperament  he  was  profoundly  sym- 
pathetic, and  was  touched  to  the  quick  by  the  feelings  of 
others.  But  by  this  very  law  of  his  nature  he  had  re- 
garded John  Morley  and  his  exaggerated  grief  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  Waldrons,  with  whom  he  had  been 
most  closely  associated.  He  had  placed  himself  in  the 
position  of  Robert,  and  pleaded  for  him  all  the  excuses  he 
would  have  sought  for  himself.  But  now  he  seemed  to 
look  into  the  very  heart  of  John  Morley, — that  heart  on 
fire,  as  Grant  had  once  called  it.  That  Hester  Morley 
should  love  Robert  Waldron  !  That  she  should  ever  be- 
come his  wife  !    He  pushed  away  the  hair  which  had  fallen 


i 


CONSULTING    CARL.  249 

over  his  forehead,  and  gazed  fixedly  at  jMr.  Waldron,  who 
said,  "  Do  you  think  with  me  ?" 

"  I  think,"  cried  Carl,  in  an  irrepressible  frenzy,  '  thjit 
the  idea  is  monstrous!  There  are  some  sins  which  can- 
not be  forgotten.  It  would  be  a  horrible  thing,  in  un- 
heard-of thing." 

"  Perhaps  you  love  Hester  yourself,"  Mr.  Waldron  sug 
gested. 

Carl  hastened  to  regain  his  self-control.  Mr.  Wal- 
dron's  face  was  one  of  sharp  and  anxious  scrutiny  ;  and 
he  did  not  wish  to  subject  himself  to  any  more  pointed 
questions. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  her  father  only,"  he  answered  ;  "  1 
believe  that  to  him  it  will  appear  more  monstrous  than  it 
does  to  me." 

"Carl,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  in  an  accent  of  pity,  "I 
like  you ;  ay,  I  honor  and  trust  you.  In  bringing  you 
here  I  thought  it  probable  that  you  would  love  Hester. 
But  this  is  my  son's  whole  chance  of  happiness ;  perhaps 
for  the  life  to  come  as  well  as  this.  It  may  be  his  salva 
tion.  You  possess  a  better  and  holier  happiness.  Prom- 
ise me,  at  least,  that  you  will  not  use  your  influence  against 
him." 

"  I  have,  perhaps,  no  right  to  influence  her,"  answered 
Carl,  sighing  ;  but  I  will  commit  her  to  His  care  who 
judges  all  men.  If  my  prayers  can  shield  her  from  peril, 
they  shall  not  fail  her." 

His  heart  sank  a  little  after  he  had  given  this  implied 
promise  to  stand  aside  while  she  was  tempted  with  al 
that  ambition  and  love  could  offer  her.  The  sole  weap- 
ons he  could  use  in  her  defence  were  the  prayers  ^nc( 
teachings  she  would  listen  to  from  his  mouth  in  the  p.ubli.Q 
services  of  the  chapel. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

HOW   COULD    IT   END  ? 

SCARCELY  had  Mr.  Waldron  closed  the  house-door 
after  himself,  having  considerately  forbidden  Carl  to 
quit  his  warm  room,  when  a  light  rap  at  his  study-door 
recalled  Carl  from  his  painful  reflections  upon  the  inter- 
view which  had  just  ended.  The  second  intruder  was  An- 
nie, who  carried  a  little  work-basket  in  her  hand,  and  came 
in  boldly  with  an  air  which  plainly  announced  that  she  in- 
tended staying  with  him  for  a  time. 

"  Now,  Carl,"  she  said,  "  it  is  all  nonsense  you  pre- 
tending you  can  study  with  that  dreadful  cold.  My  hus- 
band,"— she  uttered  the  word  with  a  little  bridling  of  the 
head,  which  showed  that  the  title  was  still  a  new  one, — 
"has  been  called  out,  and  does  not  expect  to  be  home  till 
late.  He  said  I  was  to  come  here  and  sit  with  you,  and 
you  were  on  no  account  to  leave  this  room  till  bedtime. 
So  I  am  going  to  order  tea  up  here,  and  we  will  have  a 
nice,  quiet,  cosy  evening  together,  you  dear  old  boy." 

She  rang  for  the  servant  to  bring  the  tea-tray  and 
bright  brass  kettle  up  stairs,  and  was  very  busy  for  a  time 
in  making  the  tea  and  toast  by  Carl's  fire.  He  sat  upon 
the  hearth,  watching  her  with  dimmed  eyes  and  a  colorless 
face.  Annie  was  quick-sighted,  and  the  weariness  of  his 
expression  did  not  escape  her, 

"  Are  you  going  to  talk  to  me,  Carl,  or  shall  I  talk  to 
you  ?  "  she  asked. 


HOW    COULD    IT    END?  23 1 

"I  would  a  great  deal  rather  you  talked  to  me,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  I  shall  not  say  anything  very  wise,  and  I  shall  gos- 
sip," she  said,  threateningly. 

Carl  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  stretched  his  feet 
out  towards  the  lire.  He  could  not  make  conversation, 
even  to  Annie,  that  night.  His'  mind  was  very  busy,  but 
very  rambling,  darting  from  one  point  to  another  of  his 
interview  with  Mr.  Waldron.  Yet  he  was  not  sorry  that 
Annie  had  invaded  his  solitude,  and  that  her  voice  should 
prattle  through  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts.  Now^  and 
then  he  caught  a  sentence  of  her  lively  gossip,  and  an- 
swered by  a  word  or  two.  On  her  part  she  was  weaving 
a  very  skilful  and  subtle  web  by  which  she  might  entrap 
his  most  secret  sentiments  ;  but  she  might  as  well  have 
gone  directly  to  her  point,  so  insensible  was  he  to  her  del- 
icate handling. 

"  She  is  very  fond  of  me,"  said  Annie,  in  a  tone  of 
great  significance  ;  and,  as  he  was  thinking  at  the  moment 
of  Hester,  the  words  startled  him.  '"She  said  last  night 
she  loved  me  like  a  sister." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  answered,  earnestly. 

"  I  wonder  how  old  she  is,"  remarked  Annie. 

Carl  knew  to  a  day  Hester's  age.  She  was  four  years 
and  three  months  younger  than  himself  He  had  seen 
the  date  of  her  birthday  in  a  book  which  had  been  given 
to  her  years  ago,  but  he  did  not  give  his  sister  the  infor- 
mation she  desired. 

"  She  perhaps  looks  younger  than  she  is,"  said  Annie  ; 
"  I  think  she  is  very  good  ;  don't  you,  Carl .?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  very  subdued  tone. 

"  And  she  thinks  you,"  continued  his  sister,  "  the  ver}- 
best,  the  very  first,  the  most  eloquent  of  men   and   minis 


25-  iii:sri:R  morley  s  promise. 

ters.  or  course  I  agreed  with  her,  but  she  said  I  was 
never  to  tell  you  so,  Carl." 

Carl's  face  grew  crimson,  and  with  the  gesture  most 
flimiliar  to  him,  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  long  hand  ; 
there  were  tears,  he  could  not  tell  why,  standing  in  them. 
Annie  nestled  to  his  side,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  Dear  old  fellow,"  she  said,  "  I  daren't  quite  say  that 
she  is  in  love  with  you;  but  she  is  not  far  from  it.  And  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  I  should  like  it  altogether.  She  is 
not  exactly  what  I  fancied  your  wife  would  be.  I  should 
think  she  cannot  be  less  than  six  or  seven  years  older  than 
you  ;  but  she  is  very  good  and  very  rich,  and  her  father  is 
a  great  man  among  our  people.  Still  I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  I  should  like  my  brother  Carl  to  become  her  hus- 
band." 

Carl  had  suffered  too  severe  a  shock  that  evening  to 
be  staggered  by  this  one.  The  deep  flush  faded  gradu- 
ally away  from  his  face,  and  the  tears  dried  under  his  eye- 
Irds,  but  he  could  not  command  his  voice  sufficiently  to 
speak  to  Annie. 

"  So  now,"  she  said,  kissing  him  affectionately,  "  your 
mind  is  prepared  for  it.  I  don't  believe  you  have  vanity 
enough  for  the  notion  to  enter  your  head  of  itself,  clever 
as  you  are.  It  would  be  a  very  grand  thing  for  you,  but  1 
don't  exactly  see  how  it  would  turn  out  in  the  end.  You 
are  very  fond  of  her,  Carl." 

"  She  is  my  friend,"  he  answered,  with  parched  lips 
and  dry  throat. 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  Annie,  sagely;  "but  everybody 
knows  what  such  friendships  generally  come  to.  I  don't 
mean,  Carl,  that  you  might  not  go  on  very  comfortably  as 
a  friend  ;  but  Miss  Waldron  will  not.  Mark  my  words, 
and  make  up  your  mind  about  it.     Only  if  I  were  you,  un- 


now    COULU    IT    END? 


-DJ 


less  I  really  cared  for  her,  I  would  not  let  her  come  here 
so  often.  I  should  think  you  could  easily  put  a  check 
upon  that.  It  is  not  nice  generally  for  men  to  marry  wo- 
men older  than  themselves,  but  she  is  everything  else  you 
like;  isn't  she?  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Waldron  and  Mr. 
Robert  will  think  of  it !  " 

Carl  felt  glad  that  his  sister's  head  was  still  lying  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  that  she  could  not  see  his  face.  A  pro- 
found sense  of  the  derision  with  which  at  times  life  seems 
to  flout  and  make  a  mock  at  us,  filled  his  mind,  and  he 
laughed  a  short  hoarse  laugh,  which  grated  upon  his  sis- 
ter's ear. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh,  Carl .'  "  she  asked. 

"I  was  laughing  at  Mr.  Waldron,"  he  answered,  check- 
ing himself. 

"  Why,*'  continued  Annie,  "  would  you  really  marry 
Miss  Waldron  if  you  were  sure  she  would  marry  you  ?  I 
was  talking  to  Hester  this  morning  ;  she  came  up  here  to 
fetch  a  book  she  had  lent  me,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  had 
noticed  anything  peculiar  in  her  manner  last  night." 

"  What  did  she  answer  ? ''  asked  Carl,  with  increasing 
interest. 

"  She  was  shy,  as  she  always  is,  of  speaking  out  her 
mind  ;  but  she  said  there  was  no  doubt  Miss  Waldron  was 
very  fond  of  you." 

"  Fond  of  me  1  "  repeated  Carl ;  "  did  Hester  say  any- 
thing else  ?  ■' 

"  She  said  what  a  pious  woman  Miss  Waldron  is," 
continued  Annie  ;  "  everybody  says  the  same.  But  now, 
my  dear  boy,  do  not  be  rash  in  any  way.  I  am  a  whole 
year  older  than  you,  and  I'm  married,  you  know;  so  listen 
to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you.  A  great  many  pious  wo- 
men are  excessively  disagreeable,  I  can  tell  you ;  they  are 
so  good  that  ii  does  not  seem  worth  while  to  be  amiable. 


254  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

They  may  have  a  good  deal  of  treasure  laid  up,  but  they 
have  no  small  change  for  everyday  use.  One  of  your 
great  divines  said  himself,  that  good  nature  was  some- 
times better  than  grace  in  a  wife.  Now  I  am  afraid  I 
have  not  so  much  treasure  laid  ujd  as  Miss  Waldron,  but  I 
am  not  unpleasant  to  live  with;  at  least  James  says  so. 
Don't  be  in  any  hurry,  in  any  way." 

Carl  fell  into  a  train  of  troubled  thoughts  again.  His 
friendship  for  Miss  Waldron  was  pure  and  chivalrous, 
founded  upon  the  gratitude  he  felt  for  her  very  gracious 
and  flattering  regard  for  himself.  No  idea  that  she  cher- 
ished a  sentiment  one  degree  warmer  than  his  own  would 
ever  have  entered  his  mind,  had  not  Annie  placed  it  so 
plainly  before  him.  But  now  that  his  eyes  were  opened  he 
saw  it  distinctly,  and  knew  that  he  could  never  be  blind 
again.  He  passed  in  review  the  incidents  of  the  preced- 
ing evening,  and  then  his  thoughts  were  brought  round 
once  more  to  the  first  painful  subject  which  had  occupied 
them. 

"  Annie,"  he  said,  in  a  very  low  and  troubled  voice, 
"do  you  think  it  possible  for  Hester  ever  to  love  Robert 
Waldron  ?  " 

"It  looked  very  like  it  last  night,  Carl,"  she  answered, 
gravely. 

"  But,  good  heavens  !  "  cried  Carl,  forgetting  his  dis- 
approbation of  any  words  at  all  approaching  the  nature  of 
an  oath,  "the  thing  is  impossible." 

''  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  all  the  morning,"  re- 
sumed Annie,  "and  I  partly  understand  how  it  can  be. 
Hester  has  lived  so  apart  from  the  world  that  she  is  still 
like  a  child  in  many  things  ;  and,  Carl,  as  for  sin  !  why, 
she  looks  at  it  as  the  angels  might  do.  Of  couise  we  are 
bound  to  believe  her  corrupt  and  sinful,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  I  suppose  ;  but  I  say  that  Hester  no  more  knows 


HOW    COULD    IT    END?  255 

how  to  distinguish  between  sin  and  sin  than  an  ange 
would.  It  is  clear  that  Robert  Waldron  does  not  shock 
her  in  any  way,  but  that  she  is  rather  attracted  by  him 
than  otherwise.  I  saw  her  look  at  him,  once  or  twice  yes- 
terday, with  the  open-eyed,  wondering,  unconscious  gaze 
of  a  child.  But  at  other  times  her  eyes  sank,  and  her  face 
colored  when  he  was  talking  to  her.  I  am  afraid  she 
might  love  him." 

"  But  what  could  be  the  end  of  it  ?  "  asked  Carl,  in  a 
sharp  accent. 

"  Ah  !  how  could  it  end  }  "  repeated  Annie. 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  and  turned  her 
ear  listening  towards  the  window.  There  was  a  distant 
sound  of  hoof-beats  coming  on  at  a  rapid  rate,  and  a 
bright  smile  broke  upon  her  face.  She  kissed  Carl  hasti- 
ly, bidding  him  go  to  bed  early  that  night,  and  left  him  to 
the  undisturbed  course  of  his  meditatinne 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A   DIRECT   EFFORT. 

F^ROM  the  time  that  Miss  Waldron  had  become  ic- 
quainted  with  the  fact  that  a  Popish  Frenchwoman 
dwelt  in  idolatrous  darkness  within  sight  of  the  very  walls 
of  the  chapel,  where  the  gospel  was  preached  every  Sun- 
day, though  in  a  language  unknown  to  her,  she  had  re- 
solved upon  making  her  the  subject  of  one  of  those  direct 
efforts  which  had  often  so  signal  an  effect  upon  the  poor 
women  of  her  district  and  mothers'  meetings.  She  order- 
ed from  John  Morley  a  packet  of  English  tracts  translated 
into  French,  and  with  these  and  a  French  Bible  in  her 
large  satchel,  she  sallied  forth,  the  morning  after  her  fa- 
ther's interview  with  Carl,  to  seek  the  dwelling  of  the  be- 
nighted foreigner. 

It  was  about  midday,  and  Madame  Lawson  was  regal- 
ing herself  with  a  savory  ragout,  highl3--seasoned  with  gar- 
lic, which  she  was  wont  to  have  cooked  in  her  landlady's 
oven.  She  had  added  to  her  repast  a  glass  or  two  of 
good  Burgundy,  supplied  to  her  by  Robert  Waldron,  which 
she  could  only  take  at  those  meals  when  her  son  was  ab- 
sent, for  fear  of  his  discovering  the  secret  of  her  distin- 
guished visitor.  She  was  in  her  most  exhilarated  mood. 
The  noonday  happened  to  be  one  of  the  rarely  bright  mo- 
ments of  November,  and  the  high  window  of  her  garret 
caught  the  sunshine,  while  all  the  court  below  was  in 
gloom.     There  was  no  fire  in  the  grate,  but  a  warm  chaf- 


A   DIRECT    EFFORT.  257 

frette  filled  with  wood-ashes  from  the  oven  stood  under 
her  feet.  The  three  little  bronze  crucifixes  over  the  etnpty 
fire-place  shone  full  in  the  brightest  of  the  sunbeams,  and 
were  the  first  objects  upon  which  Miss  Waldron's  eyes 
fell  as  she  entered  the  garret. 

Miss  Waldron  had  not  the  proficiency  in  French  which 
her  brother  possessed.  She  had  never  been  out  of  her  na- 
tive isle,  and  her  father,  entertaining  a  true  old-fashioned 
British  contempt  of  foreigners,  had  never  invited  any  to  his 
house.  Her  acquaintance  with  the  language  was,  in  con- 
sequence, almost  limited  to  a  perusal  of  Telemachus  and 
the  works  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  which  she  had  gone 
through  with  her  dictionary  and  a  master.  Madame  re- 
ceived her  with  a  torrent  of  patois,  of  which  she  barely  un- 
derstood one  word  ;  but  Miss  Waldron  was  not  to  be 
daunted.  She  laid  her  packet  of  tracts  upon  the  table 
and  seated  herself  on  a  distant  chair. 

"  You  are  a  Frenchwoman,"  she  said  austerely. 

Yes,  Madame  was  a  Frenchwoman  from  Bourgoyne, 
and  she  could  not  speak  one  word  of  English, — not  one 
word.     To  speak  English  was  like  swallowing  fish-bones. 

"  You  are  a  Papist,"  observed  Miss  Waldron,  who  had 
scarcely  understood  the  previous  remarks. 

Papist  !  She  did  not  comprehend  what  was  Papist. 

"  Your  religion  is  Papist,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  pointing 
to  the  little  crosses  and  rosary. 

Yes,  yes  ;  that  was  her  religion.  She  was  a  Catholic. 
That  v/as  her  chaplet ;  she  said  her  chaplet  twice  a  day. 
sometimes  oftener,  if  she  was  triste.  When  she  felt  very 
sad,  she  said  a  little  prayer  first,  and  then  sang  a  song. 
Would  she  like  to  hear  a  song  ? 

Without  waiting  for  permission,  the  gay  old  lady  start- 
ed off  with  one  of  her  merriest  songs  ;  her  eyes  growing 
smaller  and  brighter,  and  the  cunning  little  wrinkles  start- 


258  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

i.ig  out  more  and  more  wickedly  at  every  line.  Miss  Wal 
dron  could  not  catch  a  word  of  the  song,  but  she  trembled 
at  the  thought  of  what  she  might  be  listening  to,  and  her 
face  grew  a  dull  red.  She  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair, 
and  glanced  towards  the  door.  At  the  last  line  of  the  song 
Madame  winked, — positively  winked  at  her  visitor;  and  then 
crossed  herself  in  so  sudden  a  manner  that  Miss  Waldron 
was  still  more  dismayed. 

"I  am  Miss  Waldron,"  she  said,  entrenching  herself 
behind  the  dignity  of  her  name. 

Waldron  !  Bah  !  She  could  not  speak  such  a  word. 
But  was  it  not  the  name  of  the  fine  young  milord  Robert 
who  did  her  the  honor  of  paying  her  a  visit  sometimes? 
Quite  an  English  milord,  but  with  a  beautiful  toilette  and 
with  rings  on  his  fingers,  who  could  speak  French  like  a 
Frenchman. 

Miss  Waldron  was  puzzled.  It  was  not  at  all  in 
Robert's  line  to  visit  poor  old  women  ;  yet  she  knew  that 
he  could  speak  French  fluently,  and  it  was  not  probable 
that  another  person,  possessing  equal  proficiency,  could  be 
found  in  Little  Aston.  But  what  could  bring  Robert  there  ? 
The  thought  of  Hester  flashed  across  her  like  a  ray  of  light. 

"  He  is  my  brother,"  she  answered,  slowly,  and  with 
some  difficulty,  as  she  pondered  over  a  totally  unprepared 
phrase.  She  had  arranged  beforehand  a  conversation 
which  ought  to  have  proceeded  like  a  catechism,  but  she 
was  completely  thrown  out.  She  stammered  and  hesitated, 
but  at  last  she  was  compelled  to  put  her  question  in  a  bald, 
unvarnished  manner.  "  Does  he  meet  a  girl  called  Hester 
Morley  here  ?"  she  asked. 

The  smooth  .clean  face  of  Madame  assumed  the  inno 
cenceof  a  child,  combined  with  virtuous  indignation.     She 
answered  firmly  in  the  negative,  with  a  gesture  of  utter  repu- 
diation ;  but  Miss  Waldron's  aroused  suspicions  w-ere  not 


A   DIRECT   EFFORT.  259 

to  be  rocked  to  sleep  again.     Hester  came    here,  and  she 
had  learned  that  Robert  did  so  too.     What  could  it  inean 
Could  it  have  any  meaning  but  one  ? 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  in  very  incorrect  French,  for 
she  was  agitated,  and  her  tongue  tingled  to  speak  in  strong 
English,  "  that  you  are  a  very  wicked  woman.  I  knew  you 
were  a  Papist  and  a  Frenchwoman  ;  but  I  am  afraid  you 
are  worse.  I  came  here  with  the  purpose  of  doing  you 
good,  but  I  fear  it  is  impossible.  I  shall  speak  about  you 
to  my  father,  Mr.  Waldron,  of  Aston  Court,  who  is  a  ma- 
gistrate. 

Madame  Lawson  could  not  understand  many  words 
of  this  speech,  but  she  could  see  that  the  visitor  was  very 
greatly  displeased.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  come 
on  a  mission  of  suspicion  and  espionage,  and  she  resolved 
to  throw  her  off  the  scent.  Her  brown  eyes, — eyes  which 
betray  nothing,  met  Miss  Waldron's  gaze,  and  a  sinister 
air  of  intelligence  spread  over  her  face. 

"  Mademoiselle  Hester  comes  to  see  me  sometimes," 
she  said,  very  distinctly,  "  but  never,  oh  !  never,  when  mi- 
lord Robert  comes.  There  is  a  young  priest  at  the  chapel 
where  Mademoiselle  makes  her  prayers  ;  and  in  England, 
the  priests  marry.  He  is  very  handsome  and  young,  like 
Mademoiselle  Hester.  It  is  possible  he  may  marry  him- 
self with  her." 

Miss  AValdron's  heart  sank  very  low.  That  such  a 
calamity  was  possible  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself; 
but  it  had  never  been  put  into  words  and  uttered  in  her 
hearing.  She  was  lost  in  distressed  and  perplexed  thought, 
not  able  to  ply  the  old  woman  with  clever  questions. 
Madame  regarded  her  with  a  crafty  smile.  Grant  had 
once  brought  Carl  to  see  her,  but  the  visit  had  made  little 
inipression  upon  her,  except  as  awakening  an  odd  interest 
in   'he   priest    who   could   marry  if  he  chose.     She   was 


26o  IlKSTKR    MOKLEY'S   PROMISF. 

conscious  that  she  had  made  a  happy  hit,  though  she  did 
lot  know  exactly  where  it  wounded. 

"  Does  Hester  love  the  young  priest  ? "  asked  Miss 
Waldron  at  last,  unable  to  cloak  the  inquiry  more  skilfully. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  love  one's  director,"  she  answered, 
with  a  leer  full  of  insinuation  ;  "and  he  is  so  handsome, 
like  la  petite.     It  is  also  his  duty  to  love  all  his  people." 

Both  Madame  and  Miss  Waldron  had  been  too  en- 
grossed to  catch  the  sound  of  the  stair-case  creaking  under 
a  footstep  ;  but  at  this  moment  a  sallow  and  withered  face, 
with  two  eyes  set  in  it  like  burning  lamps,  appeared  at  the 
half-open  door.  Madame  uttered  a  little  scream,  and  dex- 
terously snatched  the  bottle  of  Burgundy  from  the  table, 
putting  it  by  a  sleight  of  hand,  into  its  hiding-place  under 
her  bed.  But  the  new-comer  paid  no  attention  to  her  move- 
ments. He  had  taken  off  his  old  paper  cap,  and  fastened 
upon  Miss  Waldron  a  gaze  which  did  not  permit  his  eye- 
lids to  wink.  She  experienced  a  very  peculiar  sensation 
of  discomfort  under  the  fixed  scrutiny  of  these  burning 
eyes. 

"  It  is  my  son,  Madame,"  said  Lawson's  mother,  intro- 
ducing him  with  an  air  of  ceremony. 

"  Can  you  speak  English,  my  good  man  ?  "  inquired 
Miss  Waldron. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Lawson  ;  but  before  we  go  any 
further,  may  I  ask  what  your  name  is  ?  " 

"  Miss  Waldron,  of  Aston  Court,"  she  said,  with  em- 
phasis and  dignity. 

"  So  I  guessed,"  he  cried,  clenching  his  hands  ;  "  you 
are  a  lady,  and  I'd  be  sorry  to  frighten  you.  But  it  is  as 
much  as  your  life  is  worth  to  come  here.  I  am  Mr.  Mor- 
ley's  workman,  and  love  Miss  Hester.  I  knew  her  mother 
and  the  second  Mrs.  Morley.     Now  you'll  see  you'd  better 


I 
I 


A    DIRECT    EFFORT.  26t 

not  come  here  again.  This  is  my  house,  and  I  will  have 
nobody  in  it  belonging  to  you  or  yours." 

"  I  came  here  to  convert  your  mother,"  said  Miss  Wal- 
dron,  with  great  courage. 

"Then  she  must  go  unconverted,"  he  said,  his  tone 
rising  to  a  higher  pitch  ;  "  if  you  and  yours  are  to  go  to 
heaven,  then  me  and  mine  must  go  elsewhere.  It  is  not 
safe  for  you  here.  John  Morley  and  me  are  waiting — 
waiting  till  the  right  time  comes  ;  for  there  is  deadly  hatred 
betwixt  us  and  you.  You  had  better  go  at  once,  while  I 
warn  you.     I'm  a  quiet  man,  but  you  had  better  go." 

His  voice  had  risen  shrilly  with  each  sentence,  till  now 
it  rang  in  her  '^ars  with  a  shriek,  which  the  children  at  play 
below  hear'i,  md  stopped  suddenly  to  listen.  Miss  Waldron 
seized  h'  r  sa'jhcl  and  fled  ;  and,  as  she  hurried  through 
the  court  the  wi'idov.-  above  was  opened  violently  and  her 
loos^-n^d  packet  of  tracts  fluttered  down  about  he  like  a 
Ho.lf^  of  frightened  dp^es. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

SOMETHING   MORE   THAN   A   FRIEND. 

AS  Miss  Waldron  issued  from  the  low  passage  leading 
to  the  court,  Carl  was  hurrying  past  with  long 
strides,  and  with  his  head  bowed  down  as  if  heavy  with 
momentous  thoughts.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  joyful  relief, 
and  almost  flung  herself  upon  his  arm.  There  was  so  evi- 
dent a  fright,  both  in  her  flurried  manner  and  the  startled 
expression  on  her  face,  that  Carl  gazed  about  him  and 
peered  down  the  narrow  alley  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  it. 
She  sobbed  hysterically  ;  and  having  sufficient  presence 
of  mind  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  she  did  not 
attempt  to  control  her  agitation,  as  she  must  have  done 
had  she  been  compelled  to  pursue  her  way  alone,  or  had 
she  met  any  other  acquaintance.  She  leaned  heavily  and 
helplessly  upon  the  arm  of  the  embarrassed  Carl.  The 
street  was  quiet,  but  he  glanced  up  and  down  it  with  a 
feeling  of  dismay.  There  needed  but  one  or  two  observ- 
ant passers-by  to  attract  a  whole  crowd  about  them  from 
the  surrounding  houses.  The  key  of  the  chapel  vestry 
was  in  his  pocket,  and  the  chapel  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street. 

"  Would  you  like  to  sit  down  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
vestry  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  yes  ? "  said  Miss  Waldron,  between  her 
sobs. 

Carl  led  her  across  the  street,  and  once  again  he  cast 


SOMETHING   MORE   THAN  A   FRIEND.  263 

a  keen  glance  about  him.  There  were  only  a  few  children 
to  be  seen  at  play.  But  no ;  coming  up  the  pavement  was 
a  light  and  tall  figure,  dressed  in  a  soft  grey  dress  which 
he  knew  very  well  to  be  Hester's.  She  was  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  street,  dazzled  perhaps  by  the  white  wintry 
sunshine ;  for  she  did  not  seem  to  see  them  in  the  shade, 
though  he  was  a  long  time  in  fitting  the  key  into  the  lock, 
in  the  hope  that  she  would  recognize  them,  and  he  could 
make  a  sign  to  her  to  come  across  to  them.  Miss  Wal- 
dron  did  not  see  her. 

"  There  is  Miss  Morley,"  said  Carl ;  "  shall  I  run  over 
and  call  her  to  come  to  you  ? " 

"No,"  answered  Miss  Waldron,  plainly  enough,  and 
without  a  sob  this  time  ;  "  I  would  much  rather  not  see 
her  at  this  moment.  I  have  something  very  extraordinary 
to  tell  you,  Carl." 

The  name  Carl  seemed  to  fall  from  her  lips  unconsciously 
in  her  state  of  excitement  ;  but  he  felt  a  nervous  tremor 
at  the  sound  of  it.  He  opened  the  vestry  door  and  went 
in,  with  Miss  Waldron  still  supporting  herself  upon  his 
arm.  He  placed  her  in  his  own  chair  beside  the  table,  and 
stood  opposite  her  before  the  empty  fireplace.  Above  it 
hung  usually  the  portrait  of  a  distinguished  divine  of  their 
denomination,  in  a  full-bottomed  wig  and  white  bands,  at 
the  back  of  which  was  a  small  looking-glass  where  the  pas- 
tor of  the  church  could  take  a  stealthy  glimpse  of  himself 
before  ascending  the  pulpit.  Carl  had  turned  the  portrait 
with  its  face  to  the  wall  the  preceding  Sunday ;  and  now, 
instead  of  the  smooth  and  pious  physiognomy  of  the  eminent 
minister,  he  saw  his  own  troubled  features,  with  the  straight 
eyebrows  knitted  and  the  lips  pressed  sternly  together. 
Miss  Waldron  began  to  sob  less  deeply,  but  she  sat  with 
her  head  averted,  and  with  an  air  of  modest  confusion 
which  almost  drove  him  frantic. 


264  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"Do  you  feel  better?''  he  asked  ;  "can  I  do  any 
for  )'ou  ? " 

"  I  am  better,"  she  answered,  faintly  ;  "in  a  minute  or 
two  I  will  tell  you  all." 

For  that  minute  or  two  Carl  set  himself  to  conquer  his 
impatience  and  irritation.  Why  should  he  feel  so  different 
to-day  from  what  he  had  felt  only  the  day  before  yesterday  ? 
She  was  his  friend  still ;  and  he  had  only  heard  Annie's 
partial,  and  no  doubt  absurd,  notion  that  she  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  friend.  A  true  friendship  between  man 
and  woman  ought  to  be  able  to  bear  a  greater  shock  than 
the  misapprehension  and  misconstruction  of  others.  He 
almost  detested  himself  for  the  ready  and  ridiculous  vanity 
which  had  caused  him  to  give  credence  to  the  story  ;  yet 
the  hot  blood  mounted  to  his  beating  temples  as  he  caught 
a  side-long  glance  from  Miss  Waldron. 

"  Carl,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  as  if  it  was  still  necessary 
to  gasp  for  breath  at  each  word,  "  I  may  call  you  Carl  now, 
I  think." 

What  could  he  answer.?  He  bowed  his  head  gravely, 
but  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  floor. 

"  I  am  a  little  older  than  you,"  she  continued,  with  a 
frank  air,  "  and  I  am  so  used  to  hear  your  dear  sister  call 
you  Carl.  That  is  how  I  slipped  into  it.  To  call  you  Mr. 
Bramwell  now  would  seem  formal.  I  am  thankful  it  is 
only  you  who  have  seen  my  agitation.  It  is  foolish  and 
silly,  I  know,  but  then  1  am  nothing  but  a  weak  foolish 
woman." 

"  You  have  been  very  much  alarmed,"  remarked  Carl, 
falteringly. 

"  Oh  ;  exceedingly !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Waldron,  her 
hand  pressed  upon  her  heart  ;  "and  I  am  so  grateful  to  the 
i^rovidence  which  sent  you  here  at  this  moment.  It  is  but 
.•  lother  proof  that  our  steps  are  all  numbered." 


SOMETHING    MORE    THAN    A    FRIEND.  265 

On  his  part  Carl  felt  no  particular  thankfulness  for 
having  been  found  on  the  spot  at  that  special  moment ; 
but  he  rebuked  the  thought  as  it  suggested  itself  to  him. 

"  I  must  tell  you  all,"  said  Miss  Waldron,  "  but  to  you 
only.  It  must  be  a  secret  between  us  two.  I  would  not 
have  my  father  made  uneasy  for  the  world  ;  and  if  I  need 
any  counsel  or  protection,  you  will  give  me  both.  I  can 
count  upon  you,  dear  Carl.'' 

'•  Certainly,"  he  replied. 

Miss  Waldron's  narrative  contained  several  details  not 
to  be  found  in  the  preceding  chapter,  all  tending  to  cast  a 
lustre  on  her  own  conduct,  such  as  might  be  supposed  by 
an  uncharitable  spirit  to  have  existed  only  in  her  own  im- 
agination. She  omitted  also  the  mention  of  Madame's 
suggestion  with  respect  to  Carl  himself,  though  she  was 
tearfully  eloquent  in  connection  with  her  suspicions  con- 
cerning her  brother  and  Hester  being  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
one  another  in  the  old  Frenchwoman's  garret.  Here  Carl 
possessed  a  knowledge  of  which  Miss  'Waldron  was  igno- 
rant ;  and  nothing  appeared  more  probable  to  him  than 
that  Robert  Waldron  had  seized  upon  any  opportunity  of 
meeting  Hester.  But  that  she  should  consent  to  these 
clandestine  interviews  was  a  sure,  convincing  proof  that  he 
had  won  her  affection  ;  and  she  had  fallen  into  the  snare 
through  dread  of  her  father.  Could  this  be  the  sorrow 
which  old  Mr.  Watson  had  foreseen  for  Hester  ?  Had  he 
received  some  hint  of  the  miserable  attachment  she  had 
formed  ?     What  could  he  do  in  the  matter  ? 

With  his  darkened  face  reflected  in  the  little  sacred 
nirror,  Carl  let  these  first  thoughts  run  riot  in  his  brain, 
while  Miss  Waldron  meandered  on  in  a  gently  purling 
stream  of  sentiment,  which,  to  speak  the  truth,  did  more 
credit  to  her  heart  than  her  head,  and  which  murmured 
idly  against  Carl's  ear  as  a  brook  laps  unheeded  against 
12 


266  HESTER    MORLKV'S    PROMISE. 

the  granite  base  of  a  rock.  He  had  no  notion  of  what  she 
was  saying.  He  was  dethroning  the  image  of  Hester  from 
its  pure,  sweet,  girhsh  suprentacy,  and  setting  it  beside  the 
image  of  Robert  VValdron.  The  mere  thought  of  such  a 
union  shocked  him.  He  turned  away  from  it  with  revul- 
sion, as  if  it  were  a  crime.  It  flashed  suddenly  across  him 
that  Hester  had  been  intended  for  him  ;  he  knew  it,  and 
felt  sure  of  it.  Their  spirits  were  of  one  kind  ;  their  hearts 
beat  with  the  same  pulse.  If  she  had  only  waited  a  little 
longer  before  surrendering  the  treasure  of  her  love  !  But 
she  had  cast  away  her  pearls,  and  had  no  longer  any  to 
bestow  upon  him  to  whom  they  would  have  been  wealth 
beyond  price. 

Carl  suffered  more  intense  pain  this  morning  than  he 
had  done  the  night  before  while  listening  to  Mr.  Waldron. 
There  had  been  the  consolation  of  doubt  then,  but  there 
was  none  now.  Hester  met  Robert  clandestinely,  and  it 
must  be  because  she  loved  him. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  been  alarmed,  even  then,"  said 
Miss  VValdron  ;  "  I  ought  to  have  stayed  myself  upon  a 
promise." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Carl,  not  hearing  what  she  said. 

"But  I  am  only  a  feeble  woman,"  she  continued;  "we 
are  not  like  you  and  others,  with  your  strong  minds.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  despise  me  for  the  future." 

She  had  never  before  pleaded  her  feminine  feebleness, 
but  now  she  looked  up  to  him  with  an  api^ealing  and  help- 
less gaze.  From  Hester's  eyes  such  a  glance  would  have 
penetrated  the  profoundest  depths  of  his  heart ;  but  from 
Miss  Waldron  it  had  no  such  effect. 

"  Despise  you  !  "  he  said  ;  "  oh,  no  !  why  should  I  ? 
No  doubt  you  had  cause  for  alarm." 

"  And  you  will  esteem  me,  and — care  for  me  as  much 
as  ever?  "  she  asked,  with  a  recurring  sob. 


I 


SOMETHING    MORE    THAN   A    FRIEND.  267 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  replied  ;  "  why  do  you  trouble  your- 
self afresh,  Miss  Waldron  ?  There  is  no  more  cause  for 
fear.  As  soon  as  you  feel  yourself  equal  to  the  exertion, 
I  will  see  you  safe  home." 

"Carl,"  she  said, in  a  bashful  and  hesitating  tone;  "if 
you  really  feel  that  we  are  friends,  ai.d  especially  now  we 
have  a  secret  between  us,  and  I  have  only  you  to  look  to  for 
advice  and  protection,  I  w^ish  you  would  leave  off  calling  me 
Miss  Waldron.     You  may  call  me  by  my  name,  Sophia." 

"  But  nobody  calls  you  Sophia,"  exclaimed  Cail,  with 
alarmed  earnestness. 

"  But  I  will  allow  you  to  do  so,"  she  answered,  conde- 
scendingly ;  "  it  is  less  distant,  and  more  friendly.  To  the 
rest  of  the  world  I  remain  Miss  Waldron  ;  to  you  I  am 
Sophia. 

Carl  murmured  his  thanks  indistinctly.  It  needed  a 
great  effort  to  save  him  from  a  lack  of  courtesy.  But  she 
was  a  good  woman,  a  member  of  his  Church,  a  lady,  and 
the  daughter  of  his  patron.  All  these  titles  gave  her  so 
many  claims  to  his  respect ;  and  even  if  it  were  true,  as 
Annie  had  intimated,  that  she  distinguished  him  with  her 
preference,  that  was  no  reason  whatever  why  he  should 
treat  her  with  impoliteness  or  ill-temper.  There  was  a 
mingled  sense  of  shame  and  sorrow  for  her  which  lent  to 
his  manner  a  sufficient  gentleness  to  blind  Miss  Waldron"s 
eyes,  already  dazzled  with  self-importance.  She  intimated 
that  she  was  now  ready  to  undertake  the  walk  home  ;  and 
leaning  confidingly,  but  not  too  heavily,  upon  his  arm,  they 
traversed  together  the  watchful  streets  of  Little  Aston  and 
the  glades  of  the  park,  while  unutterable  sentiments  filled 
the  heart  of  Sophia  Waldron. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

TEN  YEARS  AFTER. 

IT  was  a  noticeable  sight,  and  one  fraught  with  tacit  in- 
ferences, which  had  greeted  Hester's  eyes  as  she  turn- 
ed the  corner  of  the  street  and  saw  Carl  and  Miss  Waldron 
about  to  enter  the  chapel  vestry  upon  a  day  and  hour  when 
there  was  neither  a  public  service  nor  a  more  private  meet- 
ing of  any  kind.  She  had  not  chosen  to  recognize  them  ; 
for  the  question  asked  by  Annie,  whether  she  had  not 
observed  something  peculiar  in  Miss  Waldron's  manner 
towards  Carl,  had  been  rankling  in  her  mind  ever  since ; 
and  the  pain  it  created  there  set  her  on  her  guard,  both 
against  herself  and  them.  She  was  in  a  transition  state  of 
moods  and  emotions,  of  which  she  could  not  breathe  a 
word  to  any  one.  From  the  first  moment  her  eyes  had 
looked  upon  Carl's  face,  with  its  fine,  clear,  happy,  and 
good  aspect,  so  differing  in  its  charm  from  the  handsomer 
features  of  Robert  Waldron,  she  had  felt  that  there  were 
other  classes  of  men  in  the  world  than  those  she  had  met  in 
her  narrow  sphere.  Hitherto  she  had  found  no  man  strong- 
er in  nature  than  herself;  for  in  her  heart  of  hearts  Hes- 
ter knew  herself  less  weak  in  the  presence  of  trial  and  temp- 
tatioi  than  any  of  the  people  about  her,  with  the  exception, 
perhaps,  of  Grant.  She  was,  though  Mr.  Waldron  and 
Robert  did  not  suspect  it,  little  pliable  to  outer  influences, 
and  not  easily  moulded  into  a  form  foreign  to  herself  Bui 
Carl  was  stronger  than  she.     She  looked  up  to  him  from 


TEX    YEARS    AFIER.  269 

beneath  the  long  fringe  of  her  brown  eye-lashes,  mentally 
acknowledging  him  her  superior.  Sunday  after  Sundav 
she  listened  to  him  critically,  and  never  caught  a  false  tone 
or  an  affected  one.  She  found  her  mind  pondering  over 
his  thoughts,  and  confessing  her  belief  in  them.  She  began 
to  feel  as  if  she  was  his  sole  listener  ;  the  congregation 
might  be  there,  but  they  could  not  comprehend  him  as  she 
did. 

A  very  sweet  and  subtle  impression  had  taken  hold  of 
her,  that  Carl  had  been  more  eloquent  for  her  than  for  any 
one  else  in  his  church.  Now  and  then,  when  he  had 
allowed  his  genius  a  higher  flight  than  ordinary,  and  had 
soared  far  above  the  heads  of  his  simple  flock,  his  kindled 
eyes  had  sought  hers  and  held  it  in  a  fascinated  gaze,  while 
he  elaborated  and  concluded  his  thought ;  and  there  had 
seemed  a  secret  understanding  between  them,  more  perfect 
than  that  of  words.  But  now  Hester  discovered  that  there 
was  a  second  listener,  with  whom,  perhaps,  Carl  had  a  still 
more  intimate  and  delicate  unison  ;  who  might  have  the 
privilege  of  suggesting  the  themes  of  his  eloquence,  and 
who  certainly  could  converse  with  him  familiarly  about  his 
sermons.  When  Annie  had  plainly  hinted  at  Miss  Waldron's 
preference  for  her  brother,  Hester,  yielding  to  a  very  natu- 
ral and  feminine  feeling  of  jealousy,  had  observed  that  she 
was  a  very  pious  woman.  It  was  all  she  could  say.  To 
her  Miss  Waldron  had  ceased  to  be  imposing  or  clever ; 
and  she  never  appeared  engaging.  Hester  scarcely  cared 
to  put  herself  into  comparison  with  her  on  the  score  of 
beauty  ;  and  she  felt  that  she  was  her  superior  mentally. 
But  in  goodness  ?  In  the  one  thing  needful  to  a  good  man 
like  Carl,  how  far  she  fell  behind  the  acknowledged  Saint 
of  the  Church  at  Little  Aston  ! 

Hester  humiliated  herself  all  that  afternoon  ;  and,  in 
consequence,  was  not  so  pleasant  a  companion  to  Lawson 


-'/O  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

as  usual.  She  set  vigorously  to  work  to  root  out  the  tares 
from  her  heart,  one  of  them  being  her  young  love  for  Carl, 
She  made  a  number  of  vows,  every  one  difficult  of  perform- 
ance. Her  busy  hands  did  not  pause  because  of  the  inward 
storm  ;  but  Lawson  saw  more  than  one  tear  stealing  down 
her  cheeks  as  she  smoothed  the  gold  leaf  with  her  delicate 
ringers.  He  was  himself  excited,  and  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  telling  Hester  of  the  occurrence  of  the  morning.  But 
her  cloudy  brow,  and  her  mouth  set  into  a  firm  line  of 
decision  and  of  secret  conflict,  silenced  him.  During  the 
last  few  months  she  had  grown  out  of  the  pensive,  and 
almost  timid  child,  into  a  mistress,  who  was  gentle  and 
gracious  in  her  manner  it  was  true,  but  who  knew  her  own 
dignity  and  upheld  it.  When  she  spoke  to  him  this  after- 
noon, her  voice  was  set  in  a  clear  but  mournful  key  ;  and 
her  words  were  few.  Lawson  did  not  dare  to  tell  her  how 
he  had  encountered  Miss  Waldron  in  his  mother's  room, 
and  had  forbidden  her  ever  to  intrude  there  again.  He 
would  leave  it  for  Madame  to  relate  in  her  own  way. 

At  six  o'clock  Hester  descended  from  the  work-room 
and  made  tea  for  her  father,  still  busy  with  herself  She 
could  not  decide  whether  she  would  go  to  the  week-night 
service  at  chapel,  or  stay  at  home  to  pursue  her  melancholy 
task  of  rooting  up  the  tares.  She  debated  the  point  until  it 
was  almost  too  late,  and  then  she  dressed  in  a  panic,  and 
sped  in  frantic  haste  up  the  dark  street.  The  fine  morning 
had  merged  into  an  evening  of  thick,  cold  rain,  which  was 
falling  heavily,  and  splashed  upon  the  pavement  as  she 
hurried  along.  Scarcely  a  creature  was  to  be  seen.  Here 
and  there  a  resolute  worshipper,  like  herself,  was  trudging 
along  under  a  wet  umbrella,  but  she  knew  that  the  congre- 
gation would  be  a  small  one.  And  then  it  all  at  once  oc 
curred  to  her,  with  a  chill  colder  than  the  rain,  that  very 
probably  Carl  himself  would  be  absent,  as  he  was  not  ver) 


TKN    VKAKS    AFTKR.  2/1 

.veil.  She  stopped  at  the  door  to  regain  her  breath,  and  to 
listen  if  she  could  hear  his  voice  within.  Two  or  three 
persons  passed  her  ;  one  of  them  a  poor  woman  shabbily 
dressed  in  a  widow's  garb,  who  paused  to  look  inquisitively 
at  her  from  under  her  rust\-  crape  veil.  Then  Hester  went 
in,  caught  for  a  moment  the  full,  grave,  searching  gaze  of 
Carl  from  his  low  reading  desk,  and  going  on  to  her  accus- 
tomed seat,  she  sank  upon  her  knees,  with  a  strange,  almost 
intolerable,  sense  of  pain. 

For  once  Hester  did  not  hear  a  word  of  Carl's  sermon, 
though  she  caught  the  sadness  and  unwonted  languor  of 
his  voice.  As  she  left  tlie  chapel  she  saw  the  carriage 
from  x\ston  Court  still  waiting  at  the  door,  though  Mr.  and 
Miss  Waldron  were  already  seated  in  it.  She  crossed  over 
the  street,  and  hid  in  the  archway  of  the  court  opposite,  sim- 
ply to  wound  herself  with  the  sight  of  Carl  driving  away 
with  her  rival.  While  she  stood  in  the  rain  and  the  dark- 
ness, he  would  be  whirled  off  in  comfort  and  luxury.  Hester 
felt  for  the  first  time  how  poor  she  was.  Miss  Waldron  was 
rich  as  well  as  good,  and  Carl  had  made  a  wise  choice. 
The  worldly  sneer  had  scarcely  risen  to  her  lips  when  she 
shrank  from  it  instinctively,  and  drove  the  suspicion  back 
to  the  unworthy  regions  from  whence  it  had  come  to  assail 
her.  She  watched  the  little  congregation  dropping  away 
by  twos  and  threes  ;  and  suddenly  recalled  to  mind  a  child- 
ish play  of  the  lost  Rose,  who  had  often  amused  her  by 
watching  the  creeping  sparks  die  out  of  a  smovildering 
piece  of  paper.  Why  did  the  memory  of  Rose  return  to 
her  now  ?  Carl  was  just  coming  out  of  chapel,  the  last  of 
all,  and  ran  through  the  rain  to  the  carriage,  into  which  he 
sprang  with  the  freedom  and  familiarity  of  one  quite  at 
home  with  those  inside.  She  saw  it  roll  away  down  the 
street,  and  then  she  prepared  to  follow,  slowly  and  sorrow- 
fullv,  through  the  beating  of- the  storm. 


2/2  HESTER    M(JKI.EV  S    I'KU.MISK. 

But  had  Carl  been  the  last  to  leave  the  chapel,  wheie 
a  few  lamps  were  still  burning,  though  they  were  being 
put  out  one  by  one?  Hester  cast  a  last  look  towards  it, 
and  saw  the  poor  widow  in  her  shabby  mourning,  sitting 
desolately  upon  one  of  the  steps  of  the  portico.  She  was 
in  a  mood  for  lingering.  She  was  in  a  mood,  too,  for  pity 
and  compassion  towards  any  form  of  suffering.  There 
was  also  a  fine,  and  very  insidious  sense  of  pleasure  in  the 
idea  of  engaging  in  some  good  work,  while  Miss  Waldron 
was  wrapped  in  luxury  and  enjoyment.  She  would  be,  for 
the  moment,  beating  her  on  her  own  ground,  iiester  re- 
crossed  the  street.  The  stranger  was  crouching  upon  the 
lowest  step,  with  the  rain  driving  full  upon  b'ir.  She 
'seemed  to  have  reached  this  place,  and  then  fallen,  fur 
she  was  lying  along  the  stone  in  an  attitude  of  complete 
helplessness.  Hester  stooped,  and  laid  her  hano"  <j^ently 
on  her  shoulder. 

"Are  you  ill?"  she  asked,  in  soothing  tones.  '"  i'ou 
must  not  lie  here  in  the  rain.  If  you  tell  me  where  \'our 
home  is,  I  will  take  you  there  under  my  umbrella." 

To  walk  through  the  wet  streets  with  a  friendless  tuiI 
poverty-stricken  stranger  on  her  arm  would  be  a  vast  tn 
umph  over  Miss  Waldron  in  her  carriage,  with  Carl  by  he- 
side. 

The  woman  shuddered,  and  shrank  fi-om  the  ligb 
touch  of  Hester's  hand,  crouching  lowftr  ai;d  lowei*  upor 
the  ground.  She  had  looked  up  from  nndef  the  voil  ai 
Hester's  face,  upon  which  the  lamp  still  IJt  m  die  eiitiance 
of  the  chapel  was  shining.  Then  she  gav^  utierance  to  a 
sob,  a  suppressed  cry,  a  moan  v/rung  froT  iht'  ev'^xeme 
anguish  of  a  suffering  spirit.  She  stretched  '■>i.<t  he'  ^x>.\d 
towards  Hester,  but  did  not  touch  her,  in  a  n^n*-J  y-' "  '-e 
which  awoke  within  her  a  vasfue  alarm. 


TEN   YEARS   AFTER.  273 

"  Speak  to   me,"  cried  Hester  :  *■  are  you  ill  ?     What 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  the  last  light  was  extinguished  in  the 
chapel,  and  the  outer  doors  were  closed  and  fastened  by 
some  person  within.  The  noise  seemed  to  arouse  the 
stranger.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  but  staggered,  and  fell 
back  against  one  of  the  large,  square  pillars  of  the  portico. 
The  continued  silence  and  the  agitation  of  this  woman 
gave  a  shape  to  Hester's  vague  suspicions.  A  quick  ter- 
ror and  chill  ran  through  her  frame.  The  darkness  which 
now  gathered  about  them  was  a  welcome  veil  ;  a  screen 
behind  which  might  be  acted  scenes  that  must  shun  the 
day.  The  rain  also,  and  the  emptiness  of  the  street, 
seemed  to  draw  closer  the  curtain  which  ought  to  conceal 
the  wretched  creature  at  her  side. 

"  Tell  me  only  who  you  are,"  she  whispered,  in  a  tone 
of  mingled  pity  and  terror. 

"  Hester  ! "  moaned  the  shadow,  which  she  could 
scarcely  distinguish  in  the  dense  darkness  of  the  night  ] 
and  there  was  no  need  for  any  other  word  to  pass  through 
the  faltering  lips. 

Hester  sank  down  upon  the  steps,  and  with  blank,  be- 
wildered eyes,  gazed  into  the  blackness  which  hemmed 
them  in.  The  poor  lost  Rose  had  come  back  at  last ! 
The  sinful  woman  whom  she  had  urged  Robert  Waldron 
to  seek  out,  and  whose  mysterious  aisappearance  had 
been  a  continual  care  to  her.  Her  father's  wife  stood  be- 
side her  !  She  felt  her  cheeks  burn  and  her  veins  tingle. 
Now  she  had  a  vision  of  her  sin  which  she  had  never  had 
before.  For  a  few  minutes  her  woman's  heart, — a  heart 
which  had  known  womanhood  but  for  a  little  time, — cried 
out  in  strong  condemnation  of  the  sinner,  as  well  as  the 
sin.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  forgive  her  all  at  once  ; 
nor  speak   to  her  any  words  except  those  of  ^  liehteous 


2/4  HESTER    MORLEV'S    I'RUMiSK. 

anger  and  abhorrence.  She  knew  now  that  she  ought  not 
to  have  married  her  father  at  all,  unless  she  had  felt  for 
him  such  a  love  as  would  have  lifted  her  ujd  forever  out 
of  reach  of  the  temptation  by  which  she  had  fallen. 

Yet,  thought  Hester,  after  the  first  paroxysm  was  over, 
had  not  God  brought  them  together  thus,  on  the  very 
threshold  of  His  own  house  of  prayer,  to  teach  her  tiiat  if 
He  did  not  cast  her  out,  neither  ought  she,  who  might 
herself  be  tempted,  and  who  was  not  without  sin }  She 
bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and  a  passionate  prayer 
went  up  irom  her  burdened  heart  for  help  and  wisdom  in 
this  hour  of  extreme  need. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  you  ? "  she  asked,  speaking  at 
last  to  the  silent  and  motionless  figure  at  her  side, — stand- 
ing there  like  a  voiceless  ghost  from  some  other  world, 
which  could  utter  no  word  until  a  question  was  put  to  it. 

"  Oh  Hester  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  could  live  no  longer  with- 
out seeing  you  and  my  home.  You  cannot  thi'-'k  what  it 
is  to  be  away  ten  years,  and  never  hear  a  word,  not  a  syl- 
lable, of  those  who  belong  to  you.  Would  my  husband 
forgive  me,  do  you  think  ?  Only  so  far  as  to  let  me  hear 
him  say  so  before  I  die  ?  I  cannot  live  very  long.  Is  he 
less  angry  with  me  ?     Does  he  ever  speak  of  me  V  " 

"  No,"  said  Hester,  "  he  has  not  forgiven  you.  He 
never  mentions  your  name." 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "  wailed  the  lost  woman  ;  "  but  I  must 
get  his  forgiveness  before  1  die.  What  is  to  become  of 
me?  I  want  to  hide  somewhere  ;  anywhere  out  of  Rob 
ert's  reach.  He  is  trying  to  find  me  ;  and  I  vowed  to  God 
when  I  left  him  that  I  would  never,  never  look  upon  his 
face  again.  Do  you  know  why  1  God  keep  you  ever  from 
a  repentance  hke  mine.  Shelter  me  somewhere,  little 
Hetty  ;  hide  me.  You  promised  once  that  you  would  be 
always  like  my  own  daughter  to   me.     Hester,  you   could 


TEN    YEARS    AFTER.  275 

not  turn  away  from  your  mother,  however  sinful    she   had 
Ljcn." 

The  doleful  words  were  wailed  into  Hester's  ear,  as 
she  still  gazed  into  the  darkness.  Rose  had  crept  towards 
her,  and  stolen  her  arms  round  her  waist.  She  did  not 
push  away  the  clinging  arms,  but  she  could  not  answer. 

"  I  am  very  young  still,"  murmured  Rose ;  "  no  older 
than  Miss  Waldron,  who  was  at  chapel  just  now.  I 
thought  your  father  would  be  there,  and  I  should  see  how 
changed  he  was.  I  am  going  to  die,  Hester.  Yesterday 
the  doctor  in  London  said  there  was  no  hope  for  me  ;  so  I 
resolved  to  come  back  home,  to  you  and  my  husband. 
He  is  a  just  man,  and  a  merciful  man.  He  cannot  help 
but  forgive  me  before  I  die.  I  believe  that  Jesus  has  par- 
doned all  my  sins." 

In  the  voice  of  Rose,  which  was  one  to  be  remembered 
for  a  lifetime,  there  was  a  tone  of  hope  as  she  spoke  the 
last  sentence,  and  she  pressed  her  arms  more  closely  about 
Hester. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  was  very  wretched,  and  I  thought, 
when  I  did  not  see  your  father  to-night,  had  I  not  better 
go  back  to  London,  and  end  my  life  quickly  as  women  like 
me  do.  But  then  the  preacher  spoke,  and  a  strange, 
strange  peace  entered  into  me.  He  looked  towards  me, 
where  I  sat  behind  you,  Hetty,  and  he  said,  '  Our  souls 
have  no  sins  which  the  charity  of  Christ  cannot  coven' 
Then  I  resolved  to  trust  myself  to  the  charity  of  Christ, 
and  to  yours,  little  Hetty." 

Her  voice  was  lost  in  sobs,  long-drawn  and  painful, 
md  her  head  sank  upon  Hester's  lap.  Hester's  hand  fell 
•oftly,  with  its  cold  touch,  upon  the  fevered  forehead. 

"  If  Christ  will  r^^ceive  you,"  she  said,  with  a  thrill  of 
awe  as  she  looked  up  into  the  dark  sky,  as  though  she  half 
expected  to  see  a  light  from  heaven  breaking  through   the 


276  JIKSTER    MUKI.KY's    PROMISE. 

black  clouds,  "who  am  I  that  I  should  cast  )ou  off?     1 
will  give  you  shelter  for  this  night  at  least." 

Yet  she  did  not  move,  nor  help  Rose  to  rise,  but  let 
her  still  lie  there  sobbing,  with  her  face,  which  no  eye 
could  have  seen,  buried  in  her  lap,  as  if  she  would  fair 
hide  it  even  from  the  night.  Hester  was  thinking  of  Rob 
ert  Waldron,  in  his  lu.vurious  home,  repenting  with  a  com 
fortable  penitence,  which  left  him  free  for  many  pleasures 
and  which  was  scarcely  more  than  a  welcome  gloom, 
where  he  could  withdraw  when  the  brightness  of  his  life 
wearied  him.  But  this  misery,  this  poverty-stricken,  ill- 
clad,  friendless,  dying  misery,  was  the  true  result  of  the 
sin  of  which  both  had  been  alike  guilty.  She  shuddered, 
and  Rose  felt  it;  for  she  loosed  her  clinging  arms,  and 
would  have  fallen  lower  at  her  feet,  had  not  Hester's  hand 
pressed  her  head  down  gently  upon  its  resting-place,  as  a 
mother's  hand  caresses  the  bowed  head  of  a  sorrowful 
child.  She  had  forgotten  the  cold  and  the  rain,  or  felt 
them  only  as  fitting  better  this  dreary  hour  than  light  and 
cloudless  skies  would  have  done.  But  now  her  hand  fell 
upon  the  wet  clothes  of  the  woman  whom  she  had  prom- 
ised to  shelter,  a  woman  upon  whom  the  doom  of  death 
had  been  passed.  She  lifted  Rose  up  tenderly,  and  drew 
her  trembling  arm  through  her  own.  No  eye  saw  them. 
Not  one  of  their  towns-people  met  them  in  the  deserted 
street.  In  the  darkness  and  dreariness  of  a  winter's  night, 
Rose  Morley  returned  to  her  husband's  house. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

HER    husband's   HEARTH. 

THERE  was  on  the  left  hand  of  the  house  door  an 
empty  room  which  was  rarely  entered,  and  Hester 
left  Rose  there  until  her  father  and  the  young  girl  whom 
she  kept  as  her  only  servant  should  be  gone  to  bed.  It 
was  already  near  the  hour  when  John  Morley  retired  to 
his  own  chamber,  where  he  sometimes  read  or  wrote  until 
later  on  in  the  night.  Hester  took  off  her  wet  cloak,  and 
went  into  the  room  where  he  was  sitting  alone.  There  was 
a  newly-quickened  love  mingled  with  a  dread  of  him,  stir- 
ring in  her  heart.  The  grey,  despairing  face,  and  the 
silvery  hair  of  her  father  touched  her  to  the  quick  this 
evening.  She  stood  behind  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  laid  her  hand,  which  had  so  lately  rested  upon  Rose's 
forehead,  upon  the  snow-white  head.  It  was  the  very  atti- 
tude and  caress  of  Rose  herself  on  that  day,  now  many 
years  ago,  which  had  never  died  out  of  John  Morley's 
memory  ;  and  he  laid  his  head  down  upon  the  desk  before 
him  with  a  sigh  of  profound  regret  and  despair. 

"  Father,"  cried  Hester,  earnestly,  and  kneeling  down 
beside  him,  "  is  there  nothing  that  can  make  you  happy  ? 
Is  there  nothing  that  could  happen  to  bring  you  comfort  ? " 

John  Morley  shook  his  head  in  silence. 

•'  But  this  is  horrible,"  she  said.  "  Surely,  surely  God 
never  meant  you  to  pass  your  life  in  a  grief  like  this. 
Surely  He  has  kept  some  consolation  in  His  hands  ior 
you." 


278  HESTER    MOREEV'S    I'ROMESE. 

"  All  things  are  possible  with  Him,"  he  answered ; 
"  but  yet  holier  men  than  I  have  passed  through  long  lives 
under  blacker  clouds  than  mine.  There  was  Cowper. 
God  has  not  smitten  me  with  an  Egyptian  gloom  like  his. 
For  me  there  is  a  hope  in  the  world  to  come,  where  the 
weary  are  at  rest." 

"  But  is  there  no  hope  for  you  sooner?"  asked  Hester. 
*'  li  there  nothing  which  would  make  you  glad  ? " 

"  Nothing  !  "  he  replied.  "  I  have  a  habit  of  sorrow 
now,  Hester,  and  I  cannot  shake  it  off.  It  is  a  poisoned 
garment,  if  you  will,  but  to  tear  it  off  would  tear  my  living 
flesh.     No,  no !    There  is  no  more  gladness  for  me  in  life." 

Could  she  tell  to  him  her  heavy  secret .''  An  unuttera- 
ble terror  seized  upon  her  at  the  very  thought.  She  re- 
membered the  moment  when  her  father,  with  the  glare  of 
madness  and  suicide  in  his  eyes,  had  awakened  her  from 
the  profound  sleep  of  childhood,  telling  her  it  was  better  to 
die  than  to  live.  She  recollected  the  stealthy,  murderous 
blow  which  had  nearly  killed  Robert  Waldron.  Her  heart 
failed  her.  Overhead  was  that  closed  room,  which  had  been 
a  constant  testimony  against  Rose  ;  and  now  Hester  invol- 
untarily held  her  breath  and  listened  as  if  she  heard  some 
sound  there.  John  Morley  listened  also  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  heard,  as  there  never  had  been  since  Rose 
had  fled.  He  sighed  weariedly,  and  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  the  book  without  reading  them.  The  striking  of  the 
house-clock  seemed  welcome  to  him  ;  and  he  bade  Hester 
good  night,  and  left  her  alone  in  the  gloomy  room. 

H-^ster  waited  until  she  heard  him  lock  his  chamber 
door,  and  then  she  fetched  Rose  to  the  warmth  of  the  fire 
still  burning  in  the  grate.  In  the  dark  room  Rose  had  not 
realized  that  she  was  indeed  once  more  in  her  husband's 
house.  But  this  was  his  hearth.  Here  was  his  chair 
standing  where  it  had  been  used  to  stand  in  her  days  of  in- 


HER    HUSBAND  S    HEARTH.  279 

nocence,  gone  forever.  There  was  his  open  book,  with 
the  leaves  still  fluttering  as  if  they  felt  the  movement  of  his 
fingers.  This  was  the  light  he  had  been  reading  by,  anc 
the  air  he  had  breathed.  It  was  her  husband's  hearth, 
and  she  had  been  a  curse  to  it.  She  was  come  back  to  it 
in  secret,  and  with  trembling.  She  felt  now  how  impossi- 
ble it  would  be  to  face  him,  to  look  into  his  eyes,  and  to  hear 
his  voice.  She  glanced  about  her  for  some  refuge  to  hide 
herself  in — herself,  a  scared,  abject,  frightened  wretch,  who 
ought  to  steal  away  into  some  hole  to  die  alone  and  unseen. 
fler  wild  despairing  gaze  round  her  husband's  room  met 
th'=;  sweet,  grave  compassionate  eyes  of  Hester. 

"  Sit  here,  poor  mother,"  she  said,  drawing  nearer  the 
fire  her  own  mother's  chair,  which  in  the  lost  days  Rose 
had  always  given  up  for  her  little  step-daughter.  She  sank 
down  upon  it,  her  lips  moving  without  a  sound,  and  hei 
white  face  turned  towards  H®5ter.  Hester  had  not  seen  it 
before.  It  was  the  same  face  as  that  of  the  gay  girl  she 
had  once  been  ;  but  that  face  disfigured  and  marred  and 
aged  by  shame.  The  soft  lines  were  hardened,  and  the 
brightness  had  grown  dim,  and  the  freshness  had  become 
sullied  and  tarnished.  Hester  could  not  bear  to  look  at  it ; 
and  as  she  moved  to  and  fro,  ministering  to  her  sore  ne- 
cessities, she  did  so  with  averted  and  downcast  eyes. 

The  hours  of  the  night  wore  away  very  slowly.  Some 
limes  Rose  fell  into  a  feverish  slumber,  broken  with  sobs 
and  starts.  She  v/ould  not  go  to  bed,  and  Hester  did  not 
urge  it.  What  she  was  to  do  with  her,  Hester  did  not  know ; 
and  while  she  watched  her  uneasy  rest,  she  tried  to  shape 
out  some  plan  for  her  future  life.  To  seek  any  home  for 
her  in  Little  Aston  would  be  madness,  as  every  one  would 
know  her  and  the  story  of  her  shame.  To  send  her  away, 
whom  she  had  so  earnestly  and  so  long  soyght  to  find, 
seemed  impossible,  ten  times  impossible,  if,  as  she  said, 


2So  HKSTER    MORLEY's    PROMISE. 

there  was  no  hope  of  her  life.  It  would  be  practicable 
enough  to  keep  her  in  her  father's  house,  for  John  Morley's 
automatic  habits  could  be  counted  upon  to  a  moment. 
There  were  rooms  in  his  house  which  he  had  never  entered 
within  her  memory,  and  which  he  would  never  think  of  vis- 
iting. The  cost  of  her  maintenance  there  would  be  less 
than  anywhere  else,  and  money  was  very  scarce  with  them. 
But  she  recoiled  from  the  idea  of  suffering  her  to  dwell  by 
stealth  and  unforgiven  in  her  husband's  house,  to  sleep  un- 
der the  same  roof  Hester  recalled  her  father's  melancholy 
cry,  "  She  will  never  sleep  under  my  roof  again.  "  More- 
over, now  she  guessed  somewhat  more  clearly  the  heinous- 
ness  of  Rose's  guilt.  She  could  not  keep  her  unknown  to 
her  father,  in  the  shelter  of  his  dishonored  home. 

From  time  to  time  Rose  woke  up  and  murmured  little 
scraps  of  her  sad  history.  She  had  taken  no  special  care 
to  conceal  the  traces  of  her  flight,  yet  it  had  happei.ed  so 
that  she  had  left  Falaise  and  wandered  into  a  remote  coun- 
try district,  where  she  had  lived  cheaply,  as  one  can  do  in 
France,  for  some  years  upon  the  money  which  was  in  her 
possession.  When  it  was  gone  she  had  entered  into  a  situ- 
ation as  lady's-maid,  and  so  returned  with  the  family  to  Eng- 
land, three  years  ago.  She  had  always  passed  as  a  widow. 
Her  last  situation  she  had  given  up  only  two  months  be- 
fore ;  and  since  then  she  had  been  living  in  poor  and  solitary 
lodgings  in  London,  with  no  society  but  the  memory  of  the 
past ;  which  had  grown  day  by  day  into  stronger  force,  un- 
til it  had  driven  her  back  to  Little  Aston  in  the  forlorn  hope 
of  casting  herself  upon  her  husband's  forgiveness.  Hester 
shook  her  head  sadly  at  these  last  words.  There  was  no 
chance,  whatever,  that  John  Morley  would  forgive  her. 

"  You  do  not  yet  know  what  you  have  done,"  she  said, 
with  unconscious  severity.  "  If  you  could  see  him  you 
would  know  better  what  he  has  to  forgive.      He  may  for- 


HER    HUSI!AM/s    IIKARIII.  28I 

give  you  before  you  die.  But  I  dare  not  tell  him  that  you 
are  here;  I  dare  not  mention  your  name  to  him." 

"But  it  is  so  many  years  ago  ! "'  cried  Rose,  clasping 
her  thin  hands  together. 

"  Many  years  ago  ! "  echoed  Hester ;  "  no  ;  it  has 
been  every  day  of  those  ten  years.  The  grief  has  been 
new  every  morning.  Ah !  I  understand  it  better  now. 
Every  day  he  has  felt  himself  deserted  and  betrayed.  Oh, 
ray  father  !  my  poor  father  !  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  she  could  no 
longer  endure  the  sight  of  her  who  had  wrought  her  fath- 
er's misery.  But  a  slight  sound  caused  her  to  look  up. 
Rose  was  wrapping  round  her  the  shabby  cloak,  still  damp 
and  soiled  from  the  rain  of  the  evening.  Her  wan  face 
was  flushed,  and  her  eyes,  burning  with  inward  fever,  had 
lost  their  former  distress. 

"I  am  going  away,"  she  said,  "and  I  will  not  come 
back  till  T  crawl  here  dying.  I  must  see  him  again,  and 
hear  him  say  he  forgives  me  ;  and  if  he  sees  me  dying  at 
his  feet,  he  will  say  it.  But  I  will  go  away  for  a  little 
while,  Hetty." 

"But  where  will  you  go?"  asked  Hester. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,''  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  ; 
"  why  does  God  let  women  as  wretched  and  lonely  as  me 
live?  I  could  never  put  an  end  to  myself,  for  I'm  afraid 
to  die.  And  now  I  shall  go  away,  and  it  will  come  creep- 
ing on  and  on.  and  I  shall  know  it  is  there,  and  there  will 
not  be  a  voice  to  speak  gently  to  me.  Oh!  little  Hetty, 
cannot  you  help  me  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Hester,  taking  her  bonnet  and  cloak 
from  her  feeble  hands  ;  "  I  will  help  you.  If  my  father 
ever  heard  you  had  been  ill  in  misery  and  solitude,  it  would 
only  add  to  his  pain.  You  must  stay  somewhere  near 
to  me,  poor  mother,  so  that  I  can  nurse  you  and  comfort 


282  HESTER    MORI.EV  S    IKoMIS!-:. 

you.  Think  of  God  rather  than  of  my  father.  You  have 
separated  yourself  from  him,  but  you  have  not  separated 
yourself  forever  from  God.     You  belong  to  Him  still." 

In  tones  as  soft  and  soothing  as  those  a  mother  uses 
to  a  suffering  child,  Hester  spoke  these  words  to  Rose. 
She  placed  the  poor  forlorn  creature  in  her  mother's  chair 
again,  and  smoothed  gently  the  locks  of  light  hair,  now 
thin  and  grey,  which  had  fallen  in  disorder  over  her  face. 
Rose  slumbered  again  fitfull}',  crying  out  in  her  dreams 
for  her  husband's  forgiveness.  Once  or  twice  Hester 
started  with  terror,  thinking  she  heard  his  step  upon  the 
stairs ;  but  the  dreary  night  wore  away  without  surprise. 
As  soon  as  the  late  dawn  began  to  glimmer  upon  the  un- 
curtained window,  she  awoke  Rose  and  took  her  up  stairs 
to  her  own  room,  where  she  would  be  safe  from  all  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE   OLD    NURSERY. 

IT  was  as  Hester  drew  up  the  window-blind  in  her  own 
room,  and  her  eye  fell  upon  the  melancholy-looking 
outbuilding  opposite  it,  that  a  practicable  plan  for  the 
shelter  of  Rose  presented  itself  to  her.  The  old  nursery, 
which  at  some  remote  date  in  the  past  had  perhaps  been 
the  scene  of  childish  sports  and  laughter,  would  be  a  ref- 
uge well  fitted  for  her  safety  and  concealment.  Still  she 
resolved  within  herself  to  ask  her  father's  consent,  though 
her  habitual  independence  of  action  might  very  well  have 
acquitted  her  conscience  from  the  necessity  of  seeking  it. 
She  wished  to  feel  that  she  had  his  sanction.  She  thought 
that  at  some  future  season  it  would  prove  a  consolation 
to  him  to  know  that  he  had  himself  given  a  refuge  and 
shelter  to  Rose. 

At  breakfast,  with  lowered  eyelids  and  a  voice  which 
betrayed  her  intense  anxiety,  she  made  her  request  to 
John  Morley. 

"  I  met  a  poor  woman  last  night  at  chapel,"  she  said, 
"  a  stranger  in  the  town,  without  friends.  She  has  been  a 
lady's  maid  for  some  years,  but  she  is  now  in  great  desti- 
tution. She  thinks  of  getting  her  living  by  needlework, 
but  she  can  scarcely  do  more  than  earn  bread  by  that.  I 
wisli  we  could  help  her,  father." 

*'  It  is  very  little  that  we  can  do,"  he  said,  mournfully. 


284  iiKSTiiR  mokl?:y's  promise. 

•■  Yes,  we  can  do  a  great  deal,  she  answered  ;  "  what 
she  dreads  most  is  associating  with  drunken  and  ignorant 
poor  people.  I  don't  think  poverty  is  so  bad  in  itself;  but 
it  is  bad  when  you  are  compelled  to  live  among  low  people. 
I  don't  mind  being  poor  in  the  least,  while  we  are  togeiher, 
father." 

"  What  can  we  do  for  her  then,  Hester  ? "  asked  John 
Morley. 

"  There  is  the  old  nursery  in  the  yard,"  she  said,  with 
a  feeling  of  desperate  resolve,  "  it  is  only  filled  with  rub- 
bish now,  but  there  is  a  good  grate  in  it,  and  the  roof  is 
whole.  If  a  few  panes  were  put  into  the  window,  and  I 
found  some  old  furniture  for  it,  it  would  be  quite  a  home 
for  the  poor  creature.  We  might  even  ask  a  small  rent 
for  it,  if  you  thought  that  was  best." 

''  Hester  !  "  ejaculated  her  father,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 

"  Then  I  may  do  it,"  she  answered,  eagerly  ;  "  oh  !  you 
will  never  repent  it,  dear  father.  You  do  not  know  what 
good  may  come  of  it.  She  will  never  come  into  your  way, 
poor  thing  !  You  will  never  see  her,  I  am  sure  ;  for  she  is 
afraid  of  being  seen.  She  has  been  very  unhappy  in  her 
marriage,  and  she  is  afraid  of  ever  meeting  her  husband 
again.     No,  you  will  never  see  her." 

Hester  was  speaking  to  herself  rather  than  to  him,  in  a 
manner  which  might  well  have  excited  his  suspicions.  But 
John  Morley  saw  nothing  of  her  agitation  ;  he  was  plunged 
into  more  personal  and  more  perplexing  contemiDlations. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  sore  need  of  money.  We 
must  raise  near  upon  ;^2oo  before  the  beginning  of  next 
vveek.     I  have  some  heavy  bills  to  meet." 

For  some  years  past  John  Morley's  method  of  conduct- 
ing his  business  had  been  by  drawing  bills,  which  aiway* 
came  due  so  long  before  he  had  the  money  to  meet  chein 
Hester  had  been  very  early  initiated  into  these  anxj'-ues. 


THE   OLD    NURSERY.  285 

*'  How  can  we  do  it  ? "  she  asked,  with  some  natural 
disquietude  at  the  mention  of  a  sura  so  large. 

"  There  is  but  one  way  that  I  can  see,"  he  answered  ; 
'•'  we  must  mortgage  the  house.  Yet  it  is  the  only  property 
I  could  leave  to  you  if  I  died  ;  and  it  came  to  me  with 
your  mother.  Everything  has  gone  wrong  with  me  since  I 
lost  her.  I  would  not  do  anything  with  it  without  your 
consent,  Hester." 

"  Don't  think  of  me,  father,"  she  said,  "  and  don't 
trouble  about  me.  If  that  is  the  only  thing  we  can  do,  let 
us  do  it  at  once.  Who  would  lend  us  the  money  upon  the 
house  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  with  a  helpless  shake  of 
the  head. 

"  Father,"'  she  continued,  with  a  beating  heart,  "  I  know 
who  would  do  it,  and  it  might  be  kept  a  secret,  so  that  all 
the  town  may  not  talk  about  it  Will  you  let  me  tell  the 
person  I  am  thinking  of?" 

•"  Who  is  it  ?'"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Mr.  Waldron,"  answered  Hester. 

"  Mr.  Waldron  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  I  could  not  receive 
any  favor  from  him.  It  would  be  like  taking  money  for 
my — Oh,  Hester !  life  is  very  hard." 

She  understood  his  half-uttered  sentence  perfectly  ;  and 
her  heart  ached  for  him  and  the  broken-spirited,  desolate 
woman  hidden  away  from  his  sight. 

"  It  would  be  no  favor,"  she  said  earnestly  ;  "  we  should 
pay  the  interest  of  the  money,  or  he  should  have  the  house. 
You  should  not  see  him  yourself,  but  I  will  in  your  place. 
You  could  write  to  him,  you  know,  and  I  will  take  your 
letter,  and  explain  everything  to  him.  He  would  not  think 
he  was  doing  you  any  favor  ;  I  will  take  care  of  that. 
Then  nobody  would  know  except  ourselves  and  him.' 


286  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

"  I  cannot  make  out  how  the  business  has  fallen  away 
so  much,"  sighed  John  MorIe\'. 

Any  one  seeing  his  melancholy  and  abstracted  face, 
and  hearing  the  mournful  tones  of  his  voice,  would  very 
easily  have  understood  why  customers  were  few  and  their 
visits  brief  in  John  Morley's  shop.  No  one  chooses  to  do 
his  shopping  where  he  meets  with  a  face  and  voice  adapted 
to  a  house  of  mourning.  Hester  understood  it  better  than 
her  father,  but  she  could  not  make  it  plain  to  him.  She 
knew,  too,  that  he  tacitly  agreed  to  her  plan,  and  she  said 
no  more  about  it.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  she  was  busy 
over  the  more  pressing  duty  of  getting  Rose's  refuge  ready 
before  night-fall.  When  it  was  over,  she  lit  a  fire  in  the 
grate,  so  long  empty  and  cold.  The  nursery  looked  but  a 
poor  place  after  all  her  care.  The  walls  were  discolored 
and  stained,  and  the  rafters  of  the  sloping  roof  were  black 
with  age.  There  was  a  little  bed  in  one  corner,  with  the 
softest  mattress  and  pillows  off  Hester's  own  bedstead. 
Two  chairs  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  narrow  fire-pla^e, 
with  a  small  round  table  between  them.  It  all  looked  bare, 
dingy,  and  forlorn.  In  the  solitude  of  her  long  lonely 
hours,  the  occupant  of  this  room  would  have  time  for  re- 
pentance; but  there  seemed  no  place  for  atonement  and 
reparation.  What  could  she  do  in  this  poor  refuge  and 
hiding-place?  In  the  dusk  of  the  evening  Hester  led  her 
stepmother  to  the  only  home  she  could  provide  for  her. 
Rose  stood  motionless  in  the  centre  of  the  litde  room, 
looking  about  it  with  searching  and  troubled  eyes. 

"  It  is  the  best  I  can  do,"  said  Hester  anxiously  ,  "we 
are  very  poor." 

"  Poor  !"  echoed  Rose. 

She  said  no  more,  and  her  face  grew  paler  and  more 
troubled ;  but  afterwards  there  rested  upon  her  worn  fea- 
tures an  expression  of  solemnity    amounting    almost    to 


THE   OLD    NURSERY.  28/ 

dignity,  such  as  had  never  been  seen  upon  them  in  her 
bright  girlish  days. 

"God  bless  you,  Hetty,"  she  cried;  "you  are  better 
than  a  daughter  to  me.  This  is  the  place  where  I  am  to 
die,  seeing  you  to  the  last ;  and  your  father.  He  cannot 
be  relentless,  when  you  are  so  good.  Oh  !  my  darling,  my 
darling  !  you  are  like  an  angel  from  heaven  to  me." 

She  flung  herself  on  her  knees  and  threw  her  arms 
around  Hester,  with  tears  of  profound  anguish,  and  sobs 
such  as  might  be  wrung  from  tortured  lips. 

When  Hester  quitted  the  old  nursery.  Rose  waited  foi 
some  minutes  without  stirring,  in  the  attitude  of  one  who 
listens  eagerly.  Then  very  cautiously  she  stole  to  the  door 
and  opened  it  a  little  way  to  look  out  into  the  yard.  The 
house  opposite  seemed  to  tower  above  her  very  high  and 
very  black  in  the  darkness,  with  one  window  lighted  up  in 
the  highest  story  of  the  gable  to  the  right,  and  another  on 
the  ground  floor  of  the  gable  to  the  left.  She  knew  their 
meaning  well.  Lawson  was  still  at  work  in  his  attic,  and 
her  husband  was  sitting  in  his  old  place  with  his  books 
about  him.  She  could  remember  him  so  well ;  the  thick 
brown  hair  just  catching  a  tinge  of  silver,  and  the  studious 
handsome  face  which  had  been  wont  to  brighten  with  a 
smile  as  sudden  as  a  flash  of  lightning  when  he  met  her 
eye — a  rare  smile,  reserved  exclusively  for  her.  She  won- 
dered to  herself  whether  he  had  ever  smiled  so  upon  his 
daughter.  Since  she  had  seen  Hester,  she  had  felt  a  little 
more  comforted  about  her  husband,  and  a  little  less  remorse- 
ful. He  had  not  been  so  deserted  or  so  lonely  as  she  had 
pictured  to  herself.  He  had  watched  his  child  growing  up 
at  his  side.  There  came  a  pang,  an  unreasonable  pang 
amounting  almost  to  jealousy,  at  the  thought  that  he  had 
grown  forgetful  of  her  and  her  sin  in  the  companionship 
of  Hester.     In  the  brief  space  of  her  married  life  she  had 


288  HKSTKR    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

fostered  a  profound  jealousy  of  Hester's  mother.  And 
now,  as  she  looked  down  into  the  yard  towards  the  lighted 
window  behind  which  he  was  sitting,  an  unconquerable 
Ionising  seized  her  to  steal  down  the  crazy  staircase,  anc 
in  amongst  the  blackened  stems  of  the  lilacs  and  the 
dwarfed  laburnunvs,  to  look  once  more  upon  her  husband 
whoso  love  sh2  had  bartered  for  the  boyish  passion  of 
Robert  Waldron. 

She  listened  again,  but  there  was  no  movement,  no  sign 
of  life  in  the  yard  below.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house 
lay  the  street  and  the  busy  world  of  which  she  had  taken 
her  last  farewell.  For  to  venture  out  into  these  streets  and 
to  show  her  familiar  face  among  the  townspeople  would  be 
to  banish  herself  forever  from  the  home  where  she  had 
come  to  die.  Was  she  positively  come  to  die  here?  Was 
she  never  more  to  sleep  on  any  other  bed  but  this  until  she 
fell  into  the  last  awful  unbroken  sleep?  Were  these  walls 
and  this  narrow  court  the  only  spot  of  the  wide  world  on 
which  her  eyes  were  ever  to  look  again  ?  She  stretched  out 
her  arms  and  raised  her  bent  figure  to  its  fullest  height. 
She  felt  no  pain,  nothing  but  the  feebleness,  often  worse 
than  pain,  which  is  the  result  of  long  mental  suffering. 
The  London  physician  had  perhaps  been  deceived  by  her 
symptoms,  which,  possibly,  she  had  exaggerated  to  him. 
She  might  live  many  years  yet.  But  to  live — what  was 
that  ?  To  die  was  dreadful ;  but  she  could  not  choose  to 
live.  She  tried  to  send  back  her  thoughts  to  the  time  when 
she  fancied  she  had  loved  another  better  than  her  husband  ; 
but  it  was  in  vain.  The  thought  of  John  Morley  was 
there  quick  and  poignant  in  her  inmost  soul ;  but  Robert 
\\aldron  was  forgotten.     She  must  see  her  husband. 

Still  she  lingered  and  listened,  watching  the  gleam 
through  the  uncurtained  window,  and  the  black  naked  boughs 
of  the  trees  standing  out  clearly  against  its  feeble  light.     She 


THE    OLD   NURSERY.  289 

turned  back  and  looked  at  her  own  faded  face  in  a  small 
glass  which  hung  against  the  wall,  over  a  litde  toilet-table. 
If  her  husband  could  only  see  it  and  read  in  it  the  story  of 
her  bitter  repentance,  would  he  not  forgive  her?  But  how 
much  would  his  forgiveness  mean  ?  Was  it  possible  tha*.  he 
could  be  reconciled  to  her  ?  That  he  could  receive  her 
again  ?  Call  her  his  wife,  and  restore  her  to  her  forfeited 
place?  No,  no  ;  that  could  never  be.  He  might  look  upon 
her  again,  and  pardon  her  if  she  was  in  the  hour  of  death. 
But  if  life  were  strong  within  her,  and  many  years  lay 
before  her,  would  he  not  spurn  her  from  him,  and  refuse  to 
lay  his  finger  to  her  burden  of  shame  ? 

At  length  she  hurried  down  the  steps  and  into  the 
dreary  little  garden.  She  crept  stealthily  towards  the  win- 
dow, lest  she  should  enter  into  the  revealing  light,  and 
her  husband  should  lift  up  his  eyes  and  see  her  standing 
without  in  the  chill  of  the  wintry  night.  Her  face,  wan, 
faded,  and  withered,  approached  cautiously  the  uncurtained 
panes.  The  room — she  had  seen  that  last  night,  with  its 
ten  years  of  added  dinginess  and  decay.  But  who  was  thi.s 
aged  man,  with  a  head  bowed  and  white  with  years,  who 
was  bending  over  her  husband's  desk,  and  turning,  from 
time  to  time,  anxiously  to  the  great  account-books  she  had 
hated  years  ago.  Her  husband  could  not  yet  be  fifty  years 
old,  a  man  in  the  full  vigor  and  strength  of  life.  The  lamp 
beside  him  was  covered  with  a  shade  which  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  rest  of  the  room,  while  it  threw  a  full  light  upon 
him.  The  thin,  shrivelled  hands,  the  rounded  shoulders, 
the  grey  and  hollow  features,  the  white  hair — Rose  saw 
them  as  in  a  dream.  He  got  up  at  last,  pushing  away  his 
books,  and  took  his  stand  upon  the  hearth,  with  his  back 
to  the  fire  and  his  full  face  turned  towards  her.  She  drew 
back  with  a  creeping  thrill  of  terror. 

"  Hester,"  she  heard  him  say,  "  I  have  finished  my  letter 
13 


290  HESTKR    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

to  Mr.  Waldron.  But  if  it  were  not  for  your  sake,  I  would 
sooner  let  things  take  their  course  than  ask  him  to  lend 
me  money.     Ay,  I  would  sooner  die  ! " 

Rose  waited  to  hear  no  more.  She  cast  one  terrified 
glance  at  her  husband,  and  then  she  fled  back  in  a  panic 
of  fear  to  her  hiding-place. 

'•  Oh  !  what  have  I  done  ?  "  she  cried,  in  a  frightened 
whisper,  speaking  as  if  some  one  was  near  enough  to  hear 
her ;  "  he  was  a  good  man,  and  a  prosperous  man  !  I  did 
not  know  what  I  should  do.  God  forgive  me !  He  never 
will ;  but  God,  in  His  great  mercy,  forgive  me  !  " 

She  counted  no  more  upon  her  husband's  foroiveness. 
What  there  was  in  his  face  she  did  not  know,  but  it  had 
cast  out  all  hope  from  her  heart.  For  the  first  time,  look- 
ing into  the  deep  gulf  of  her  husband's  wrongs,  she  knew 
that  it  must  be  forever  fixed  between  her  and  him.  Per- 
haps in  the  last  hour  he  might  lay  his  hand  in  hers,  and 
let  her  feel  its  warm  forgiving  clasp,  as  she  went  down 
into  the  dark  valley  of  separation.  But  only  in  that  su- 
pren)e  moment  of  death.  Life,  if  she  lived,  must  be  a  per- 
petual banishment  from  his  presence. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A   LESSON   FOR   HESTER. 

THE  next  morning,  Hester,  with  her  father's  letter  in 
her  hand,  wended  her  way  slowly  across  the  park 
to  Aston  Court.  She  felt  a  natural  reluctance  to  the 
merest  chance  of  meeting  Robert  Waldron,  towards  whom 
her  feelings  had  undergone  a  great  revulsion.  Until  now 
he  had  claimed  from  her  an  undefined  and  rather  pleasant 
pity,  mingled  with  admiration.  If  Carl  had  not  come  into 
her  narrow  world,  her  sentiment  for  Robert  would  have 
bordered  upon  a  girl's  first  love  for  a  seeming  hero  ;  and 
her  heart,  free  and  tender,  might  have  centred  in  him  its 
interests,  and  possibly  its  affections.  But  with  Rose  at 
home,  with  this  dark  sad  shadow  at  her  side,  she  recoiled 
from  the  idea  of  seeing  him  again  for  the  first  time.  To 
her  infinite  relief  she  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  leaving 
the  park  on  horseback  by  another  route.  Mr.  Waldron 
then  would  be  alone,  and  she  could  ask  him  not  to  let  his 
son  know  of  the  transaction.  She  quickened  hei"  steps, 
and  took  the  nearest  way  to  the  room  where  he  was  gen- 
erally to  be  found  in  the  morning.  It  led  past  the  win- 
dow of  the  breakfast-room,  where  Hester  saw  a  vision  of 
Miss  Waldron  sitting  near  the  fire,  and  Carl  in  close  con- 
versation with  her.  She  nodded  to  Carl,  whose  face  was 
turned  towards  the  window,  and  hurried  on.  Mr.  Wal- 
dron was  at  that  moment  walking  along  the  farthest  end 
of  the  terrace,  and  Hester  started  to  run  after  him.     The 


292  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

color  which  this  exercise  brought  to  her  pale  cheeks  gave 
her  the  beauty  she  lacked ;  and  as  Mr,  Waldron  turned 
sharply  round,  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  Robeit's 
love  had  sufficient  excuse.  To  Hester's  extreme  aston- 
ishment, he  drew  her  into  his  arms,  and  imprinted  a  sol 
enin  kiss  upon  her  glowing  face.  She  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  that  he  was  saluting  her  for  the  first  time  as  the 
daughter  of  whom  he  had  fondly  dreamed  these  last  two 
years. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  drawing  her  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and  covering  it  with  his  own,  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  you. 
You  are  often  in  my  thoughts,  Hester, — how  often  you 
would  be  surprised  to  know." 

No  opening  could  be  more  propitious.  In  a  few  inco- 
herent sentences  Hester  stammered  out  the  purpose  of 
her  visit,  as  she  walked  down  the  terrace,  leaning  upon 
his  arm.  He  opened  the  folding  doors  of  his  room,  and 
led  her  into  it,  seating  her  in  a  chair  close  to  his  own,  and 
regarding  with  delight  her  downcast  face,  and  her  long 
eyelashes  now  beaded  with  tears.  Nothing  could  have 
pleased  him  more  ;  no  overture  could  have  come  more  op- 
portunely. At  the  very  moment  when  he  was  planning 
some  mode  of  approach  to  John  Morley,  he  had  himself 
sent  Hester  to  ask  his  help. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  '•  your  father  has  given  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  I  have  known  for  a  long  while.  I  am 
right  glad  he  did  not  go  to  anybody  else.  What !  are  we 
not  brothers  ?  Have  we  not  been  members  of  the  same 
Church  these  thirty  years?  He  has  acted  like  a  Christian 
in  coming  to  me.  I  will  return  at  once  with  you  to  your 
home.  This  is  the  right  thing.  I  find  great  pleasure  in 
this." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  heartily,  looking  down  upon 
Hester   with    a   smile   of  approbation.     Already  he   was 


A    LESSON    FOR    HESTER.  293 

thinking  oi  what  house  would  be  near  enough  to  Aston 
Court,  where  he  could  bask  a  little  in  the  freedom  and 
gentleness  of  her  presence  whenever  he  grew  slightly  wea- 
ry, as  he  did  sometimes,  of  his  daughter's  piety. 

"  I  was  very  much  afraid  ot  coming,"  said  Hester,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  smile 
that  enchanted  him.  His  daughter-in-law  promised  fair  to 
become  his  idol. 

"  Afraid  of  me  !  "  he  repeated,  his  austere  face  beaming 
with  pleasure  ;  "  whatever  could  make  the  poor  child  afraid 
of  me  ?     Am  I  so  very  terrible  to  you,  Hester  .''  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said  ;  "  but  you  are  the  greatest  man  1 
ever  have  to  speak  to  ;  and  I  don't  know  anybody  else  who 
would  have  been  bold  enough  to  come  to  you  as  I  have." 

"  Bold  !  "  cried  Mr.  Waldron  ;  "  she  calls  herself  bold  ! 
And  asks  simply  for  two  hundred  pounds  !  I  wish  it  was 
two  thousand,  and  you  should  have  it  at  once.  Come,  let 
us  go  to  your  father,  and  set  this  business  to  rights.  But 
as  for  a  mortgage  on  his  house,  that  is  all  nonsense." 

"  We  must  not  go  to  him,  said  Hester,  earnestly  ;  "  and 
he  will  never  consent  to  take  any  money  from  you  except 
upon  a  mortgage,  for  which  he  will  pay  interest.  I  know 
my  father,  and  he  will  not  listen  to  any  other  proposal. 
He  would  put  his  affiiirs  into  some  lawyer's  hands  immedi- 
ately." 

"  But  what  then  does  he  want  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Waldron,  disappointed. 

"  He  has  written  to  you,"  she  answered,  "and  given  a 
fair  statement  of  his  debts.  What  I  want  is  to  ask  you  to 
advance  any  sum  of  money  you  think  will  bring  us  through 
our  difficulties  ;  though  I  am  sure  I  don't  see  how  they  can 
end." 

She  spoke  very  dejectedly,  and  ^h.  Waldron  longed  to 
tell  her  what  a  brilliant  lot  lay  at  her  feet  for  her  accept- 


294  HESTER    MORLEV's    IROMLSE. 

ance.  But  he  dared  not  do  it  yet.  He  opened  John  Mor- 
ley's  letter,  and  read  it  carefully,  seeing  from  it  far  more 
clearly  than  the  writer  how  complicated  his  embarrass- 
ments were.  He  determined  to  avail  himself  of  the  new 
confidence  established  between  him  and  Hester,  in  order 
to  advance  the  happiness  of  his  son. 

"  1  must  deliberate  over  this,"  he  said,  "  and  I  shall 
want  you  to  come  up  again  several  times,  I  dare  say.  You 
may  take  the  money  home  with  you  at  once  ;  but  still  there 
will  be  papers  to  draw  up,  and  I  should  like  to  know  more 
about  your  affairs,  as  far  as  your  father  chooses  to  confide 
them  to  me.  You  will  not  dislike  coming  several  times  ? " 
"  Oh !  I  shall  like  it,''  she  said  frankly  ;  "  I  would  spare 
my  father  any  trouble  that  1  could  bear  for  him." 

There  was  a  fond  and  truthful  devotion  in  Hester's 
manner  which  penetrated  to  Mr.  VValdron's  heart;  and  a 
treacherous  doubt  crossed  it  as  to  whether  his  daughter 
was  really  as  devoted  to  him. 

"  And  you  are  very  poor,  Hester?  "  he  said. 
"  Very  poor,"  she  answered,  gravely. 
"You  would  like  to  be  rich  ?"  he  asked. 
"Dearly,"  she  answered;  "  I  should  like  to  be  as  rich 
as  you  are,    Mr.   Waldron.     I  like  a  house   as  large  and 
grand  as  this,  and  I  think  I   could   spend  my  money   like 
any  lady  in  the  land." 

"  Like  any  other  lady,"  he  corrected. 
"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  no  lady.     I  belong  quite  to  the 
working-class." 

If  she  belonged  to  the  working-classes,  Mr.  Waldron 
wished  that  all  the  other  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  includ- 
ing his  daughter,  did  the  same.  When  the  interview  came 
to  an  end,  he  insisted  upon  taking  her  to  see  Miss  Wal- 
dron, and  himself  conducted  her  to  the  breakfast-room_ 
where  she   still  was,    though  she   was  alone,  Carl  having 


A    LESSON    FOR    HESTER.  295 

c.iken  his  departure.  Hester  was  not  sorry  to  see  M'ss 
Waldron,  as  a  new  interest  centred  in  iier,  now  that  slie 
had  to  regard  her  as  Carl's  possible  future  wife.  She  was 
received  with  a  distant  condescension  intended  to  keep 
her  in  her  place,  which  Miss  Waldron  was  afraid  of  her 
forgetting,  since  she  had  been  invited  to  dinner  <it  As- 
ton Court.  More  than  this,  there  was  rankling  in  her 
mind  a  suspicion  almost  amounting  to  conviction  about 
Robert's  meetings  with  her  in  Madame  Lawson's  garret,  in 
spite  of  that  old  lady's  denials.  Her  fiither  also  seemed 
disposed  to  make  too  much  of  John  Morley"s  daughter. 
It  was  one  of  the  greatest  disadvantages  of  their  denomi- 
nation that  social  distinctions  were  apt  to  be  overlooked 
among  the  members  of  a  Church.  Both  Mr.  Waldron  and 
Hester  seemed  to  ignore  them  ;  and  it  was  high  time  to  set 
her  down  a  little.  At  the  bottom  of  all  lay  a  terrible 
doubt  of  Carl,  who  did  not  go  on  exactly  as  she  wished, 
and  who  had  never  once  set  her  heart  beating  by  calling 
her  Sophia. 

"  I  am  very  much  occupied  with  a  bazaar,"  she  said,  af- 
ter a  freezing  salutation  ;  "  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  can 
assist  me  in  the  plainer  work.  I  will  give  you  some  to  take 
home  with  you." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  no  time, "  she  answered  ; 
"  though,  indeed,  I  thought  of  asking  3-ou  if  you  could  not 
fmd  me  some  sewing  to  do  al  home.  I  mean  for  payment. 
I  shall  want  a  little  money  soon,  and  I  cannot  ask  my  father 
for  any." 

Her  thoughts  were  running  on  the  fresh  burden  she  had 
added  to  the  charge  of  their  household  expenditure.  Rose 
would  have  all  her  time  unoccupied  ;  and  Hester  knew  well 
how  pacifying  it  is  to  a  woman's  spirit  to  have  woman's 
work  in  her  fingers.  Besides,  so  far  as  her  strength  would 
permit,  it  would  be  only  right  for  Rose  to  do  something 


296  HESTER    MORLEY's    PKOMIS:. 

towards  earning  her  own  living.  Hester  had  grown  up  in 
the  practical  school  of  poverty  ;  so  she  asked  MissWaldron 
for  work,  and  the  payment  for  it,  quite  naturally,  and  with 
no  over-weening  sentimental  emotion. 

"  I  intend  to  ask  Mrs.  Grant  as  well,"  she  continued  ; 
'*  but  I  am  afraid  she  will  not  have  much  to  give  me,  as  she 
has  all  her  wedding  clothes  still  unworn.  But  perhaps  she 
will  know  of  somebody  else.  I  shall  want  a  constant  sup- 
ply,"' she  added  reflectively,  "  and  it  will  be  beautifully  done." 

To  Miss  Waldron  an  acknowledgment  and  request  like 
these  were  a  confession  of  immeasurable  inferiority.  She 
almost  wondered  to  see  Hester  comfortably  seated  in  her 
presence  ;  and  she  cast  a  cold  supercilious  eye  upon  her 
dress,  which  was  plain  and  worn,  but,  in  some  manner,  in 
perfect  keeping  with  the  sweet  face  of  the  wearer.  She 
answered  in  a  tone  of  stiff  patronage,  which  marked  the 
vast  distance  between  them. 

"  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  to  assist  you,  Hester  Morley," 
she  said  ;  "  I  have  no  doubt  this  is  sent  for  your  good,  to 
humble  you  and  prove  you.  I  trust  you  are  profiting  by 
this  discipline." 

"  I  hope  I  am,"  she  replied,  simply.  '•  I  should  be  very 
miserable  indeed  if  I  did  not  believe  that  God  sent  all  my 
troubles  to  do  me  good  in  the  end.  As  to  being  poor,  I 
dare  not  murmur  at  that,  for  Christ  was  poorer  than  I  am." 

Miss  Waldron  held  her  peace  for  a  moment,  and  felt 
disquieted.  If  poverty  were  no  inferiority,  what  advantage 
had  she  over  Hester? 

"  You  are  only  a  child  yet,"  she  said,  after  a  brief 
pause  ;  "you  are  but  a  babe  in  spiritual  things,  and  must 
still  be  fed  with  milk." 

"  Do  you  consider  poverty  milk  for  babes  ? "  asked 
Hester,  with  a  smile. 

"I  cannot  jest  upon  solemn  subjects,"  answered  j\Iiss 


A   LESSON   FOR    HESTER.  297 

Waldron,  sternly  ;  "  but  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  to  assist 
you,  and  I  will  send  you  a  parcel  by  one  of  the  servants 
to-morrow.  You  must  excuse  me  now,  for  I  am  very  busi- 
ly engaged." 

Thus  dismissed,  Hester  took  her  leave.  Miss  Wal- 
dron felt  happier  and  more  reassured.  She  had  not  quite 
known  the  extent  of  John  Morley's  poverty  ;  but  now  it 
had  assumed  a  magnitude  sufficient  to  form  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  between  Carl  and  Hester.  Very  few 
young  pastors,  without  private  means,  could  afford  the 
luxury  of  a  portionless  wife.  But  it  was  quite  necessary 
to  make  Hester  feel  her  position,  for  there  had  been  a 
freedom  in  her  manner  which,  more  than  ever,  grated 
upon  Miss  Waldron's  dignity  now.  She  retired  to  her 
dressing-room,  and  ordered  her  maid  to  bring  out  the  sum- 
mer dresses  which  she  had  cast  off,  with  sundry  articles 
no  longer  suitable  for  her  own  wear.  The  selection  she 
made  was  not  such  as  to  excite  the  silent  resentment  and 
envy  of  her  attendant.  They  would  convey,  she  thought, 
a  valuable  lesson  to  Hester.  To  do  her  justice,  she  was 
not  in  the  least  aware  of  the  full  measure  of  her  imperti- 
nence ;  for,  to  her,  Hester  was  still  only  a  young  girl,  and 
the  daughter  of  one  of  their  tradespeople  who  had  solic- 
ited her  for  work.  But  she  was  quite  willing  to  humble 
her  and  bring  down  her  pride.  Having  completed  her  se- 
lection, she  ordered  her  maid  to  make  them  up  into  a  par- 
cel and  to  convey  them  to  Miss  Morley  the  next  time  thg 
carriage  drove  into  Little  Aston. 
13* 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

A   MUNIFICENT   GIFT. 

UNFORl'UNATELY  for  Miss  Waldron,  it  happened 
that  when  the  Aston  Court  coachman  handed  her 
parcel  out  to  Hester's  little  servant,  who  carried  it  up 
stairs  to  her  small  sitting-room,  Annie  Grant  was  there, 
eagerly  discussing  with  Hester  how  she  could  find  some 
suitable  work  for  her.  They  opened  Miss  Waldron's 
packet  at  once,  and  regarded  its  contents  with  astonished 
and  incredulous  eyes.  Instead  of  the  sewing  they  expect- 
ed, they  found,  first,  an  old  brown  terry-velvet  bonnet,  of 
a  fashion  which  had  prevailed  several  years  before  ;  below 
that  a  soiled  and  tumbled  dress  of  some  thin  material,  and 
a  white  muslin  pelerine  which  had  been  a  good  deal 
mended.  In  addition  to  this  munificent  gift  there  were 
several  scraps  of  ribbons,  some  very  large  old  collars,  an 
odd  flower  or  two,  and  a  pair  of  black  silk  mittens.  A 
note  accompanied  them,  expressing  Miss  Waldron's  hope 
that  Hester  Morley  would  find  these  articles  of  clothing 
useful  to  her. 

Annie  Grant  possessed  sufficient  penetration,  and  had 
seen  enough  of  Miss  Waldron,  not  to  accord  to  her  quite 
as  unhesitating  an  admiration  as  the  general  public  of  Lit- 
tle Aston.  She  was  of  a  quick,  fiery  disposition,  and  not  at 
all  disposed  to  submit  tamely,  either  for  herself  or  others, 
to  th?  insglenpe  or  assumption   of  any  one.     When   she 


A    MUNIFICENT    GIFT.  299 

saw  the  tears  start  to  Hester's  eyes,  and  her  lips  tremble 
with  words  slie  would  not  speak,  her  own  indignation 
broke  out. 

"Never!"  she  exclaimed;  "I  never  saw  or  heard  or 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing  in  my  whole  life  I  What  does 
the  woman  mean  ?  How  dare  she  do  such  a  thing?  Hes- 
ter, what  is  the  meaning  of  it .'' " 

"  I  asked  her  for  some  sewing,"  said  Hester,  her  lips 
quiv'ering  still,  "  and  she  has  sent  me  this." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Annie,  "  I  only  wish  she  had  brought 
them  herself  I  wonder  how  she  could  venture  to  do  such 
a  thing !  But  she  counted  upon  you  never  telling  any- 
body else  ;  upon  no  one  hearing  of  it." 

"  I  never  should,"  said  Hester. 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  here,"  continued  Annie  ;  "  very  glad  ! 
I  only  wish  her  father  and  brother  knew^ !  Marry  Carl, 
indeed  I  No,  not  if  she  had  ten  times  her  money:  the 
mean,  insolent,  purse-proud  creature  !  Hester,  you  shall 
give  them  to  me.  It  would  only  aggravate  you  to  keep 
them  in  your  own  sight.  Let  your  girl  carry  them  up  to 
our  house  at  once." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  keep  it  a  secret  ?' 
asked  Hester. 

"  Keep  it  a  secret !"  responded  Annie  ;  "  I  could  not 
keep  it.  James  will  know,  and  Carl.  I  should  like  him  to 
hear  what  his  grand  friend  has  done.  I  shall  take  them 
away  with  me  ;  they  don't  belong  to  you,  for  I  suppose  you 
won't  keep  them  as  a  gift.      Just  look  at  them,  Hester." 

She  turned  over  the  things  strewed  upon  the  table,  with 
gestures  and  exclamations  of  indignant  excitement.  The 
insult  rankled  in  her  mind  the  more  for  the  outward  com- 
posure of  Hester's  manner.  She  wished  to  hear  her  speak 
with  some  of  her  own  vehement  resentment ;    but  she  was 


300  HESTER    MORLEY's   PROMISE. 

quiet,  wounded  to  the  quick,  perhaps,  but  so  silent  that 
Annie  could  not  rouse  her  to  utter  any  words  of  reproach. 

Very  shortly  Annie  went  home,  followed  by  the  servant 
bearing  Miss  Waldron's  parcel.  She  was  burning  for  some 
opportunity  of  making  manifest  her  anger  to  the  author  of 
it,  and  she  possessed  too  little  worldly  prudence  to  conceal 
it  upon  any  ground  of  expediency.  Carl  was  not  at  home, 
nor  her  husband.  She  carried  the  parcel  into  her  own 
room,  and  contemplated  the  contents  afresh.  An  excel- 
lent thought  struck  her,  and  she  immediately  resolved  to 
put  it  into  execution. 

Without  a  moment's  pause  for  consideration,  Annie  ar- 
rayed herself  in  the  cast-off  finery  which  Miss  Waldron 
had  selected  for  conve3'ing  a  useful  lesson  to  Hester. 
She  put  on  the  shabby  and  crumpled  dress,  too  short  for 
her,  and  in  consequence,  much  too  short  for  Hester,  who 
was  taller  than  either  of  them.  Over  that  she  threw  the 
yellow  and  darned  muslin  tippet,  with  one  of  the  largest 
collars,  which  reached  to  the  tip  of  her  shoulders ;  and  she 
fastened  to  it  the  scraps  of  old  ribbon  and  the  odd  flowers. 
Upon  her  head  she  placed  the  long  poked  bonnet,  which 
almost  concealed  her  face  ;  and  then  she  drew  upon  her 
hands  the  lace  mittens.  A  more  singular  apparition  than 
her  own  reflection  in  her  glass  had  never  met  her  eyes,  and 
she  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter  at  the  sight 
of  it.  The  distance  between  their  own  house  and  the  park- 
gates  was  but  short,  and  she  was  about  to  make  a  call 
upon  Miss  Waldron.  If  either  Mr.  Waldron  or  Robert 
should  happen  to  be  present,  she  would  say  nothing,  and 
leave  Miss  Waldron  to  explain  as  she  could  the  remarka- 
ble figure  she  presented  ;  but  if  she  should  be  alone — why 
then — 

Annie  sped  along  quickly  towards  Aston  Court,  escap- 
ing all  observation  till  she  came  to  the  park-gates.     Once 


A    MUNIFICENT    GIFT.  301 

within  them  she  considered  herself  safe,  and  shecould  walk 
more  quietly.  What  would  she  say  to  Miss  Waldron  if  she 
found  her  alone  ?  Annie  did  not  feel  as  if  she  should  be  at 
any  loss  for  words  ;  but  then  what  would  be  the  end  of  it? 
Very  likely  Miss  Waldron  for  her  own  sake  would  keep  the 
secret,  but  there  could  never  be  any  cordiality  or  friendliness 
between  them  again.  Not  that  she  shrank  from  this  mode 
of  revenge  in  the  least.  She  could  not  help  laughing  out 
aloud  as  she  imagined  Miss  Vv'aldron's  consternation  and 
chagrin  upon  recognizing  her  valuable  gift  to  Hester  com- 
ing up  to  view  again  in  so  unexpected  a  manner.  Would 
it  not  be  best  to  say  nothing  at  all,  and  leave  her  dress  si- 
lently to  rebuke  and  confound  the  impertinence  of  the  giver  ? 
It  was  possible  that  it  would  be  the  most  effectual  and  the 
most  pardonable  mode  of  reproof 

Her  mind  was  busily  discussing  the  subject,  when  she 
saw,  not  very  far  off,  her  husband  and  Robert  Vv'aklron 
coming  to  meet  her.  There  was  neither  time  nor  a  way 
for  retreat.  Grant  catching  sight  of  a  singular  person  com 
ing  towards  him  with  a  figure  and  carriage  like  his  wife, 
arrested  his  progress  for  a  moment,  with  an  exclamation  of 
doubt  and  surprise.  Robert  Waldron,  whc  se  sight  was  long- 
er and  keener  than  his,  recognized  Annie  perfectly. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Grant,"  he  said,  quickening  his  steps. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  her?"  asked  Grant ;  "  she 
does  not  look  like  herself." 

She  was  so  unlike  herself,  that,  as  she  came  nearer, 
Robert  could  scarcely  restrain  the  ejaculation  of  surprise 
which  rose  to  his  lips.  Grant  did  not  attempt  to  restrain 
his. 

"Annie  I"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  it  really  you  ?  Where  are 
you  going  to  ?  What  in  the  world  has  happened  to  you  ?'' 

"  I  am  going  to  call  upon  Miss  Waldron,"  she  answer- 
ed, with  an  hysterical  laugh.     For  an  in.stant  a  wild  doubt 


302  HESTER    ^^()RI.EVS    PROMISE. 

crossed  her  hiisband''s  mind  as  to  whether  she  had  not 
lost  possession  of  her  reason ;  and  he  looked  steadily  into 
her  excited  face. 

"Annie,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  matter?" 

This  simple  question  was  put  by  him  so  gravely,  that 
Annie  was  more  and  more  hysterically  affected.  He 
drew  her  arm  into  his  own,  and  led  the  way  towards  the 
lodge. 

"We  had  better  go  in,"  he  said  to  Robert;  "  we  can 
get  water  for  her  there,  and  the  lodge-keeper  will  leave  us 
her  room  for  a  few  minutes." 

Before  long,  Annie  had  recovered  her  composure,  and 
sat,  feeling  very  much  subdued,  on  the  settle  in  the  lodge, 
while  her  husband  and  Robert  Waldron  waited  for  her 
coinplete  recovery.  She  was  crying  now,  but  a  word 
might  send  her  off  into  laughter  again ;  and  she  wiped 
away  her  tears,  and  drank  little  sips  of  water  from  the 
glass  her  husband  held  to  her  lips.  Robert  could  not  de- 
termine to  go  while  the  mystery  of  her  conduct  remained 
unsolved  ;  for  his  eye  recognized  some  of  the  shabby  fine- 
ry she  wore  as  having  once  belonged  to  his  sister  and  he 
felt  that  he  must  learn  the  meaning  of  it. 

"  I  was  going  to  see  Miss  Waldron,"  repeated  Annie 
at  last,  as  soon  as  she  could  command  her  voice. 

"  But  in  these  rags  !  "  said  Grant ;  "  my  dear  Annie, 
do  control  yourself,  and  satisfy  me  that  you  are  in  a  sound 
mind." 

Annie  hesitated,  and  looked  towards  Robert,  but  he 
would  not  go  avi'ay. 

"These  rags,"  he  said,  adopting  Grant's  word,  "once 
belonged  to  my  sister,  I  am  sure;  and  there  is  some  mys- 
tery belonging  to  them.  Dear  Mrs.  Grant,  I  beg  of  you 
to  let  me  hear  the  explanation." 

"  You  will  never  believe  me,"  cried  Annie,  all  her  in 


A    MUNIFICENT    GIFT.  303 

dignation  reviving ;  "  but   siie   positively  sent    these   old 
things  this  morning  as  a  gift  to — guess  who  to  ?" 

"Not  to  you,"  said  Grant,  with  an  unpleasant  smile. 

"  No,  not  to  me,  but  to  Hester  Morley,"  she  answered. 

"  Hester  Morley  !  "  echoed  Grant,  while  Robert's  face 
grew  dark  as  he  waited  for  Annie's  answer. 

"  I  was  there  when  they  came,"  she  said,  "  with  a  note 
from  Miss  Waldron,  hoping  Hester  could  make  use  of 
them.     Just  look  at  them.     Look  at  this  bonnet." 

She  took  it  off  her  head  and  held  it  at  arm's  length, 
laughing  and  catching  her  breath  in  sobs  at.  the  same  mo- 
ment. Robert  snatched  it  from  her,  and  crushed  it  out  of 
all  shape  under  his  foot. 

"  Hester !  "  he  said ;  "  good  heavens  !  I  can  scarcely 
believe  what  you  say.  Why,  Hester  is  to  be  my  wife,  if  I 
can  win  her  by  any  means  ;  and  you  tell  me  these  things 
were  sent  to  her  by  my  sister  !  " 

"  Your  wife  !  "  exclaimed  Annie. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  curbing  a  little  his  passion;  "I 
have  loved  Hester  ever  since  Grant  here  carried  me  into 
John  Morley's  house  ;  or,  at  any  rate,  ever  since  I  first 
saw  her  there.  Does  it  surprise  you?  It  ought  not.  My 
father  feels  no  surprise." 

"Does  he  know.-"'  asked  Grant,  in  a  voice  of  concern. 

"Yes,  and  consents  to  it, — is  anxious  for  it,"  said 
Robert.  "  Why  !  what  is  there  strange  about  it  ?  You 
know  her,  both  of  you ;  what  is  there  to  surprise  you  in 
the  fact  that  I  love  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  !"  they  both  answered  in  one  breath  : 
and  then  all  three  were  silent,  none  of  them  looking  at  the 
others.  Annie  was  quite  calm  now,  and  ready  to  submit 
to  any  of  her  husband's  directions.  He  sai*i,  gravely,  she 
must  give  up  her  intended  visit  to  Miss  Waldron,  and  that 
she  could  wait  where  she  was,  while  he  fetched  her  one  of 
her  own  hats  and  cloaks. 


304  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

Robert  staid  behind  with  her,  but  Annie  did  not  enV  /. 
into  conversation  with  him  ;  and  he  felt  embarrassed  b'v 
her  silence.  Very  few  words  passed  between  them  beforv 
Grant's  return,  but  he  shook  hands  heartily  with  her  beforb 
she  left. 

"  I  like  you,  and  I  thank  you  very  much  for  what  you 
had  intended  to  do,"  he  said,  and  he  turned  his  steps  home- 
wards ;  while  Grant  accompanied  Annie  back  safely  to  her 
own  house. 

Carl  listened  in  silence  to  the  story  of  Annie's  escap- 
ade, but  it  touched  and  made  to  vibrate  painfully  many 
chords  in  his  nature.  His  friend  Miss  Waldron  had  been 
gradually  losing  some  of  the  brightness  of  the  halo  with 
which  she  had  crowned  herself;  but  this  impertinence  to- 
wards Hester  appeared  to  show  him  the  shallowness  of 
her  heart.  Those  who  demand  little  homage  for  them- 
selves, require  the  whole  world  to  acknowledge  the  superi- 
ority of  those  they  love.  He  was  too  deeply  wounded 
by  her  conduct  to  speak  of  it,  even  to  his  sister,  but  he 
could  ask  a  question  about  Hester. 

"  Are  they  so  very  poor,  then  1 "  he  said. 

"So  poor,"  answered  Annie,  "that  she  asked  Miss 
Waldron  and  me  if  we  could  give  her  any  work  to  do." 

"Yet  Hester  has  just  taken  in  a  poor  woman,"  observed 
Grant,  "  and  fitted  up  a  little  out-building  at  the  back  of 
the  house  for  her.  She  asked  me  to  go  to  see  her  yester- 
day. A  poor  creature.  I  found  her  almost  frightened  to 
death  by  some  London  fellow,  who  told  her  her  lungs  were 
almost  gone.  I  don't  believe  it.  I  dare  say  it  is  she  who 
wants  the  sewing,  for  she  must  live." 

"  But  why  should  not  Hester  tell  us  so?"  asked  Annie. 

"  There  is  some  mystery  about  it,"  he  replied  .  "  the 
woman  has  evidently  been  an  educated  woman.  I  asked 
her    age    particularly,    and    she    said  she    was    thirty- jour. 


A   MUNIFICENT    GIFT.  305 

She  seemed  oppressed  by  a  peculiar  kind  of  tear  which  I 
could  not  account  for.     I  have  my  suspicions.'" 

'■  What  are  they  ?"  asked  Carl,  looking  up  eagerly. 

Grant  leaned  over  the  table  towards  him,  and  lowered 
his  voice  to  a  whisper  which  would  have  been  inaudible  to 
the  keenest  ear  outside  the  room. 

'  That  this  woman  is  no  other  than  John  Morley's  lost 
wife,''  he  said.  "  Mark  you,  it  is  no  more  than  a  suspi- 
cion, and  it  must  be  sacred  wiih  us.     But  if  it  be  so — " 

"  Then  God  bless  and  help  Hester  !"  cried  Carl,  rising 
suddenly,  and  making  his  escape  to  his  study. 

The  conjecture  just  thrown  out  by  Grant,  which  had 
struck  his  mind  with  the  force  of  truth,  moved  Carl's  heart 
to  its  depths.  The  thought  of  Hester  very  poor,  and  ask- 
ing for  work  from  Miss  Waldron  and  Annie,  had  been 
enough  in  itself  to  awaken  the  most  chivalrous  sympathies 
of  his  nature;  but  if  Grant's  suspicions  were  true,  what  a 
story  hung  upon  it  I  He  pictured  to  himself  John  Morley, 
lost  and  buried  in  gloom,  with  his  dreary  house  peopled  by 
memories  which  were  half  a  shame  and  half  a  sorrow  ;  and 
this  pale,  lost  shadow,  haunting,  unknown  to  him,  the  home 
of  her  happier  days,  but  separated  from  him,  not  by  walls 
merely,  but  by  an  impassable  abyss  which  she  dared  not  at- 
tempt to  cross.  And  going  from  one  to  the  other  was 
Hester,  speaking  with  the  same  tone,  and  looking  with  the 
same  tenderness  upon  each  of  them.  If  he  had  but  the 
right  to  share  her  secret !  If  he  could  only  strengthen  and 
uphold  her  when  her  spirit  failed  her  along  the  straight  and 
difficult  path  ! 

Underneath  all  these  thoughts  which  stirred  him  there 
was  a  disguised  and  subtle  undercurrent  of  emotion.  If 
Hester  had  found  and  received  to  a  shelter  near  herself, 
the  lost  Rose,  would  it  be  possible  for  her  ever  to  become 
Robert  Waldron's  wife.'' 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

BLOW    AFTER    BLOW. 

MISS  WALDRON  heard  no  more  of  her  gift  to  Hes- 
ter. By  one  common  consent,  arrived  at  by  different 
processes,  all  those  who  had  become  acquainted  with  the  cir- 
cumstance permitted  it  to  drop  into  ajiparent  oblivion. 
Hester  knew  nothing  of  Annie's  plan  of  revenge  which  had 
been  prematurely  nipped  ;  and  as  she  never  mentioned 
Miss  Waldron's  present  again,  Annie  did  not  care  to  speak 
of  it.  She  could  not  but  acknowledge  that  her  husband 
and  Carl  were  right  when  they  said  that  the  whole  thing 
must  be  suffered  to  pass,  and  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to 
make  an  enemy  of  jNIiss  Waldron.  But  she  was  glad 
Robert  knew,  exceedingly  glad.  She  had  no  doubt  it 
would  come  out  some  day  or  other  from  his  lips,  and  cover 
his  sister  with  confusion.  In  the  meantime  it  was  very  dif- 
ficult to  maintain  a  pleasant  and  cordial  demeanor  towards 
her,  when  she  came  to  see  her  and  Carl  so  often. 

This  action  of  Miss  Waldron  had  thrown  difficulties  into 
the  paths  of  all.  To  Hester  it  made  it  a  far  from  easy  task 
to  go  to  Aston  Court,  as  she  felt  herself  compelled  to,  in 
order  to  finish  the  business  arrangements  with  Mr.  Waldron, 
who  had  insisted  upon  advancing  a  sum  of  £  500  instead 
of  yj"  200,  which  would  set  John  Morley  clear  from  his  lia- 
bilities for  about  twelve  months  to  come.  Robert,  on  his 
part,  found  it  so  hard  to  keep  this  secret,  and  restrain  his 
wrath,  that  he  was  not  sorry  when  some  pressing  business 


BLOW    AFTER    BLOW.  307 

demanded  his   presence  in   London  ;  though    it  prevented 
him  seeing  Hester  upon  her  rare  visits  to  his  father. 

But  for  Carl  the  difficulty  was  tenfold.  He  had  now 
been  pastor  of  the  Church  at  Little  Aston  for  more  than 
six  months  ^  and  ^^liss  Waldron  began  to  be  impatient  at 
the  slowness  of  his  comprehension  with  respect  to  the 
marks  of  preference  she  showered  upon  him.  She  had  be- 
come at  last  aware  of  a  growing  coldness  in  Annie  Grant's 
manner,  which  was  at  once  unaccountable  and  unpardon- 
able, seeing  that  both  Grant  and  Carl  were  under  the  pat- 
ronage of  her  family.  She  could  not  brook  any  caprices  in 
her  inferiors  but  it  was  necessary  to  overlook  those  of 
Annie  Grant,  on  account  of  Carl,  v/hose  study  she  could 
not  invade  if  she  had  aiiy  serious  disagreement  with  his 
sister.  Her  attachment  for  the  young,  handsome,  and 
eloquent  minister  was  growing  into  a  folly,  for  the  sake  of 
which  she  was  ready  to  sacrifice  any  pique,  or  endure  any 
coolness  from  Annie.  She  fostered  a  hope,  gathering 
strength-  every  day,  that  Carl  would  at  length  take  courage 
to  woo  the  wealthy  and  eminent  daughter  of  his  patron. 

On  his  part,  Carl  without  Annie's  aid,  perhaps,  would 
have  been  no  slower  than  any  other  young  man  to  under- 
stand- her  tokens  of  preference  ;  but  they  were  no  pleasure 
to  him.  How  to  act  he  did  not  knov,'.  He  was  most  anx- 
ious to  put  an  end  to  them  ;  but  he  did  not  at  all  see  how 
it  could  be  done.  His  delicate  reverence  for  womanhood, 
and  his  dignified  sense  of  duty  as  a  pastor,  imposed  upon 
him  the  task  of  setting  her  to  rights  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  felt  that  their  present  intercourse  hampered  and  fet- 
tered him  in  many  of  his  duties  ;  and  he  waited  with  impa- 
tience some  opportunity  for  gently  and  considerately  dis- 
pelling her  illusion.     The  opportunity  arrived  at  last. 

"  You  regard  me  as  a  sisler,  Carl,"  she  said  to  him  one 
evening  as  they  crossed  the  pirk  together  in  the  dusk,  after 


3o8  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

she  had  stayed  so  long  at  Grant's  house  as  to  be  afraid  to 
return  home  alone.  She  had  of  late  relinquished  her  strong- 
mindedness. 

"Certainl}',"  answered  Carl,  somewhat  absently. 

'•Then  you  ought  to  tell  me  of  my  faults,"  she  said, 
plaintively  ;  "  I  know  I  have  so  many  faults,  and  by  this 
time  you  must  have  discovered  them.  Poor  dear  Mr,  Wat- 
son used  to  say  he  could  not  see  any  ;  but  you  have  keener 
sight  than  he  had,  Carl." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  and  half  turned  away  her  face, 
lest  Carl's  keen  sight  should  read  her  thoughts  too  plainly. 

"How  I  would  conquer  any  fault  you  pointed  out,"  she 
continued,  with  effusion.  "  Oh  !  this  would  be  true  friend- 
ship !  I  should  like  you  to  tell  me  all  you  think  of  me. 
Could  you  not  tell  me  all  you  think  of  me,  dear  Carl  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should  offend  you,"  said  Carl,  in  a  low 
voice,  the  tone  of  which  she  misunderstood. 

"  Oh,  no  !  you  could  not  offend  me,"  she  replied  ;  "  it 
would  be  impossible  !  O  Carl,  you  don't  know  how  I  should 
love  the  truth  from  your  lips.  Sometimes  while  you  are 
preaching  I  wonder  if  anybody  can  attain  to  the  standard 
you  set  before  us.  Do  you  know  anybody  v.'ho  is  even 
striving  after  it,  Carl  .^  " 

"  Yes,  one,"  he  answered. 

"  And  who  is  that  one  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  beating 
heart ;  "  is  it  yourself,  dear  Carl." 

"  Not  even  myself,"  he  said,  gravely  ;  "  I  think  my 
standard  is  simply  this  :  '  If  any  man  will  come  after  me. 
let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross  daily,  and  fol- 
low me.'  I  dare  not  say  that  I  have  attained  to  this  for 
getfulness  of  self,  this  daily  cross." 

"  But  who  then  is  the  one  that  does  .?"  demanded  Miss 
Waldron. 


BLOW    AFTER    BLOW.  309 

*'  Hester  Morley,"  answered  Carl,  with  a  secret  exul- 
tation and  great  gladness  of  spirit. 

Miss  Waldron  felt  herself  pierced  through  with  this 
poignant  shaft.  She  half  withdrew  her  hand  from  Carl's 
arm  ;  but  he,  with  an  involuntary  sympathy  for  the  pain  he 
had  inflicted,  pressed  it  closer  to  his  side  ;  and  with  a  fresh 
hope  she  laid  it  again  more  firmly  and  heavily  upon  its 
resting-place. 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  he  said,  rapidly,  "  what  I  can  say  to  no 
one  else,  with  what  delight  I  have  watched  Hester.  She 
is  more  than  what  I  once  dreamed  of  women  in  my  college 
days.  My  dreams  were  poor  and  vague.  I  did  not  know 
then  what  a  woman's  heart  is." 

"  And  you  love  her  ? "  murmured  Miss  Waldron. 

"  Yes,'"  he  answered,  lifting  his  hat  from  his  head,  with 
an  instinctive  gesture  of  reverence.  "  I  love  Hester  as  I 
love  all  that  is  good  and  true  and  lovely.  I  should  be 
blind  and  foolish  if  I  could  do  otherwise." 

"  Hester  Morley  !"  cried  Miss  Waldron,  in  a  voice  of 
anguish  ;  "  and  I  warned  you  against  her  !" 

"  If  I  had  received  a  thousand  warnings,"  said  Carl,  "  it 
would  have  been  the  same." 

"  And  you  have  proposed  to  her ! "  she  exclaimed. 
*'  You  are  engaged  to  her  V  " 

"  No,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  evei 
tell  her  that  I  love  her.  She  has  another  suitor,  far 
above  me.  who  has  perhaps  won  her  love.  If  Hester  is 
not  tempted  by  your  brother's  riches,  I  shall  ask  her  t(? 
share  my  poverty." 

"  My  brother  !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Waldron. 

"Yes,"  he  said  ;  "you  told  me  yourself  that  he  met  hei 
clandestinely.  I  know  that  he  formed  an  attachment  foi 
her  many  months  ago." 

'■  Do  you  ^luppose  that    Robert    Waldron,  of   Aston 


3IO  HESTER    MORLEV'S   FROMISE. 

Court  could  ever  marry  John    Morley's    daughter?"  she 
asked,  bitterly. 

Carl  did  not  answer,  and  she  walked  beside  him  for 
some  minutes  in  silence,  striving  to  keep  down  the  passion 
which  would  fain  have  found  vent.  She  could  not  conceal 
from  herself  the  reason  of  this  confidence  reposed  in  her 
before  he  had  owned  his  love  to  Hester  herself  He  had 
detected  the  sentiments  which  she  had  cherished  for  him. 
He  the  unknown,  penniless,  friendless  student,  chosen  by 
herself,  put  into  his  living  by  her  hand,  had  discovered  that 
she  loved  him, — and  rejected  her  !  She  knew  very  well 
that  she  had  not  attempted  to  bide  her  affection  for  him  ; 
but  her  mortification  was  none  the  less  bitter. 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  keep  my  secret,''  said  Carl  gently. 
"  I  do  not  know  that  I  wish  it  to  be  a  secret.  If  it  were 
not  that  I  have  promised  to  leave  Hester  unbiased ;  if 
my  honor  was  not  pledged  to  do  so,  I  should  have  asked 
John  Morley  for  his  daughter  before  this.  Not  that  we 
could  marry  at  present ;  we  are  both  young.  But  that  I 
might  have  the  right  to  help  her,  that  we  might  help  each 
other,  to  bear  the  sorrows  of  life." 

His  voice,  which  had  been  calm  at  first,  faltered  as  he 
uttered  the  last  sentence,  and  fell  into  such  a  tone  of  ten- 
derness that  Miss  Waldron  felt  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to 
hear  him  speak  another  word.  At  that  moment,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  she  felt  old.  These  two  young  creat- 
ures, Carl  who  was  ten  3'ears  her  junior,  and  Hester  whom 
she  had  scarcely  ceased  to  consider  as  a  child,  stood  be- 
fore her  for  an  instant  in  a  separate  world  of  youth  and  glory. 
How  warm  and  bright  and  joyous  was  the  youth  she  had  left 
behind  her  !  She  felt  herself  suddenly  at  a  great  disadvan- 
tage. She  was  a  thing  laid  aside,  a  being  passed  by  ;  while 
Hester  rejoiced  in  a  wealth  which  no  money  could  ever  pur- 
chase.    She  shivered  at  the  thought  of  being  old.     A  des- 


BLOW   AFTER   BLOW.  3II 

perate  struggle  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  Only  one  thing 
was  clear  to  her, — she  must  bear  herself  bravely  before 
Carl. 

"  You  have  taken  me  a  little  by  surprise,"  she  said  ; 
"  yet  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  nothing  could  be  more 
natural.  You  recollect  I  predicted  something  like  this. 
Hester  is  of  your  own  age,  and  your  own  rank  in  life  ;  you 
could  not  look  much  higher.  She  is  the  only  girl  in  our 
congregation  who  is  your  equal  by  birth  and  education  ; 
the  others,  no  doubt,  are  somewhat  beneath  you.  I  wish 
for  your  sake,  that  John  INIorley  was  not  so  greatly  involved 
in  difficulties." 

"  I  know  they  are  poor,"  said  Carl. 

"Worse  than  that,"  continued  Miss  Waldron.  "  After 
your  confidence,  I  feel  justified  in  telling  you  all  I  know. 
John  Morley  is  in  imminent  danger  of  bankruptcy  and  dis- 
grace. In  fact,  but  for  my  father  he  would  have  been  a 
bankrupt  already." 

It  was  Carl's  turn  to  feel  a  painful  contraction  of  the 
heart.  If  John  Morley  had  surrendered  his  ancient  resent- 
ment so  far  as  to  suffer  himself  to  be  saved  from  bankrupt- 
cy by  the  Waldrons,  could  it  be  anything  but  a  si'JU  of 
what  must  be  in  the  end  ?  He  had  never  before  chafed  at 
his  narrow  means  ;  but  now,  as  he  compared  his  own  sal- 
ary of  .^150 — for  7^50  had  been  added  to  it  since  the  old 
pastor's  death, — with  the  large  income  of  Robert  Waldron, 
he  felt  that  life  was  very  unequal.  Almost  any  passionate 
emotion  makes  man  long  far  that  lost  equality,  which  is, 
perhaps,  part  of  the  forfeit  for  the  original  sin  of  ambition. 
It  seemed  preposterous  to  Carl  that  Robert  should  receive 
monthly  twice  his  annual  income.  Set  them  down  in  cir- 
cumstances on  a  perfect  level,  and  see  which  would  prove 
himself  the  better  man  !  But  now,  because  Robert  could 
rescue  Hester  and  her  father  from  poverty  and  disgrace,  he 


312  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

would  no  doubt  attain  his  end,  and  Hester  would  be  lost  tc 
himself. 

"  Miss  Waldron,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  do  not 
suppose  I  shall  ever  tell  Hester  of  my  love.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  she  will  never  belong  to  me.  But  I  shall  never 
love  any  other  woman  as  I  love  her.  If  John  Morley  were 
branded  for  the  vilest  of  crimes,  in  the  face  of  the  whole 
world,  she  would  still  be  the  woman  I  love." 

"It  is  an  infatuation!"  muttered  Miss  Waldron,  be- 
tween her  teeth. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  answered,  calmly;  "but  it  is  an  infat- 
uation sweeter  than  any  pleasure  I  ever  tasted." 

"  You  are  not  the  devoted  servant  of  God  I  thought 
you,"  she  said,  austerely. 

"I  trust  I  am  His  servant,"  replied  Carl  with  increas- 
ing calmness;  "  and  I  hope  that  every  day  will  find  me 
more  devoted  to  His  service.  But  He  does  not  require  me 
to  be  blind.  If  He  should  give  Hester  to  me,  I  will  take 
her  as  His  most  precious  gift.  But  if  not,  what  else  can 
I  do  but  submit  myself  to  His  will?" 

Miss  Waldron  did  not  answer,  but  she  withdrew  her 
hand  finally  from  his  arm.  Carl  understood  the  significant 
action,  and  felt  sorry  for  it ;  but  he  fancied  that  her  good 
sense,  if  not  her  religion,  could  at  least  restore  peace  be- 
tween them  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  It  was  most  de- 
sirable that  he  should  continue  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with 
the  most  influential  woman  belonging  to  his  Church.  lie 
believed  firmly  in  her  goodne«6  still,  though  he  had  sounded 
the  shallowness  of  her  mind  ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  she  might  nurse  her  jealousy  and  disappointment  into 
revenge.  In  silence  they  completed  their  walk;  and  when 
Miss  Waldron  dismissed  him  coldly,  without  asking  him  to 
go  in,  he  turned  away  a  little  sorrowful  for  her,  but  not  in 
the  least  apprehensive  for  himself 


BLOW    AFTER    KLOW.  313 

Miss  Waldron  was  doomed  to  receive  a  second  blow 
fhe  same  night,  almost  as  severe  as  the  first.  Before  she 
had  time  to  yield  to  the  passion  which  Carl's  confession 
had  awakened,  her  father  entered  the  room,  where  she  was 
still  sitting  with  her  bonnet  and  shawl  on  in  an  apathetic 
state  of  bewilderment.  Mr.  Waldron  was  growing  impa- 
tient for  the  success  of  his  schemes  ;  while  Robert  was 
hanging  back  from  the  fatal  moment  which  must  decide 
the  future  relationship  between  himself  and  Hester.  It 
was  all  in  vain  that  his  father  reminded  him  that  faint 
heart  never  won  fair  lady.  There  was  one  memory  which 
always  made  his  heart  faint,  whenever  he  thought  of  asking 
for  the  hand  of  John  Morley's  daughter.  Mr.  Waldron 
resolved  at  last  to  consult  his  daughter.  If  she,  the  in- 
fallible oracle  of  the  house,  could  be  won  over  to  his  side, 
Robert  would  surely  lay  aside  his  fears. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  probable  that  Robert  will 
at  last  consent  to  marry.  It  is  what  we  have  both  desired 
for  years.  You  have  never  given  me  a  moment's  uneasi- 
ness ;  but  for  him  I  am  still  anxious.  To  marry  a  reli- 
gious woman  might  be  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  For  what 
says  the  apostle,  '  Thd  unbelieving  husband  is  sanctified 
by  the  wife  ? ' " 

As  he  uttered  the  familiar  quotation,  conscience  carried 
back  his  memory  to  the  day  when  he  and  his  old  pastor 
had  gone  to  expostulate  with  John  Morley  upon  his  ap- 
proaching marriage.  But  this  case,  he  said  to  himself,  was 
altogether  different.  His  son,  though  not  a  professed 
member,  was  as  it  were  in  the  porch  of  the  Church,  anct 
needed  only  Hester's  hand  to  guide  him  into  its  inner  sanc- 
tuar}'. 

"  Robert,  "  he  continued,  after  a  scarcely  perceptible 
pause,  "loves  a  girl,  beautiful,  well-educated,  and  pious. 
She  has,  it  is  true,  neither  money  nor  position  ;  but  these  are 
14 


314  HKSTEK    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

mere  accidents  of  life  of  which  Christian  people  should 
make  no  account.  I  have  been  accused  of  pride,  and  of 
looking;  down  upon  the  other  members  of  the  Church  as 
our  inferiors.  This  marriage  will  be  a  fresh  link  between 
us." 

He  spoke  with  the  air  of  a  sovereign  who  makes  some 
great  concessions  to  his  people.  Miss  VValdron  preserved 
an  ominous  silence,  but  she  lifted  herself  up,  and  raised 
her  head  to  hear  what  was  coming  next. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  Robert  is  in  love  with  Hester  Mor- 
ley  :  and  he  has  my  full  approbation  and  consent.  It  will 
heal  old  wounds,  and  make  atonement  for  the  past.  You 
know  Hester  well ;  she  has  been  almost  like  your  own  child. 
You  will  give  her  a  sister's  welcome,  Sophia."  It  was  an 
uncommon  occurrence  for  her  father  to  pronounce  her 
name,  and  he  did  it  in  a  softened  voice.  15ut  Miss  VValdron 
did  not  catch  the  softening  of  the  tone,  nor  her  name,  as 
she  rose  majestically  from  her  chair,  with  a  dull  gleam  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  lips  working  with  a  passion  now  too 
strong  to  control. 

"  Never  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  ''if  you  are  become  a  fool, 
and  Robert  an  idiot,  I  shall  retain  my  sense  of  what  is  fit- 
ting and  right.  Never  will  I  consent  to  look  upon  Hester 
Morley  as  my  sister." 

She  shuddered  at  the  bare  mention  of  such  a  thing ;  and 
casting  a  frown  upon  her  father  which  filled  him  with  dis- 
may, she  sailed  out  of  the  room  with  an  air  of  dignity  that 
concealed  how  crushed  and  wounded  her  spirit  had  been 
that  day. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

RETRIBUTION   BEGUN. 

OPPOSITION  had  always  been  congenia'  to  Mr.  Wal- 
dron.  He  had  enjoyed  pressing  towards  any  object 
through  a  whole  host  of  opponents,  and  then  watching  them 
gradually  reconcile  themselves  to  a  measure  which  they  had 
done  their  utmost  to  prevent.  But  his  daughter's  positive 
and  active  antagonism  to  his  scheme  made  him  feel  vexed 
and  unhappy.  He  did  not  think  for  a  moment  of  giving  it 
up  ;  but  he  had  reckoned  upon  Miss  Waldron's  feminine 
penetration,  and  upon  the  interest  and  affection  of  long- 
standing which  he  supposed  to  exist  between  her  and 
Hester.  He  was  very  far  indeed  from  divining  the  mixed 
motives  which  were  at  war  in  his  daughter's  mind. 

Miss  Waldron  herself,  with  all  her  long  practice  in  ana 
lyzing  her  own  inner  life,  could  not  dissect  her  present  feel 
ings,  but  for  a  time  gave  herself  up  to  uncontrolled  passion. 
Her  closet,  that  night  and  the  next  day,  could  have  told  of 
a  very  ditferent  scene  to  the  usually  calm  and  self-compla- 
cent devotions  of  its  mistress.  The  whole  circle,  Hester 
Carl,  Grant  and  his  wife,  were  her  dependents  and  inferiors, 
yet  she  had  no  power  to  punish  them.  Had  she  no  power? 
She  would  think  about  it. 

The  business  transactions  which  had  brought  Hester 
occasionally  to  Aston  Court  were  now  concluded.  John 
Morley  had  received  a  loan  from  Mr.  Waldron  upon  a 
iiortgage,  and  had  spent  a  portion  of  it  at  once  in  paying 


3l6  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PRC^MISE. 

the  most  pressing  of  his  creditors  ;  but  the  tide  of  debt  was 
still  mounting,  and  would  soon  overflow  this  feeble  break- 
water. Secretly  it  was  upon  John  Morley's  poverty  that 
both  Mr  Waldron  and  Robert  built  their  hopes  :  a  more 
sandy  foundation  than  either  of  them  expected.  The  future 
to  be  offered  to  Hester  was  so  dazzling  compared  to  her 
present  lot,  so  far  beyond  anything  her  most  daring  girlish 
f:incies  could  have  dreamed,  that  they  counted  upon  awaken- 
ing her  ambition.  It  was  incredible  that  a  position  which 
would  be  eagerly  snatched  at  by  many  a  wellborn  and 
wealthy  family  could  be  rejected  by  the  daughter  of  a  man 
hopelessly  involved  in  business  embarrassments.  Looking 
at  it  in  this  light,  Mr.  Waldron  felt  satisfied  that  Hester 
would  gladly  become  Robert's  wife.  Going  round  to  the 
other  side,  and  regarding  the  projected  marriage  with  the 
purged  and  enlightened  eyes  of  a  Christian  man  who  knows 
this  world  to  be  no  more  than  a  training  school  for  eternity, 
a  chilly  doubt  crept  over  him  that  she  could  not  be  tem.pted 
by  all  the  grandeur  and  ease  they  could  offer  her. 

Robert  Waldron  was  growing  hungry  for  a  sight  of 
Hester.  Strange  to  say,  though  he  had  haunted  old  Mad- 
ame's  garret,  to  his  own  imminent  danger  and  her  uncon- 
trollable terror,  for  Lawson  had  begun  to  dart  in  home  at  all 
sorts  of  unexpected  moments,  he  had  never  happened  to 
come  across  Hester.  He  had  found  it  impossible  to  stay 
long  away  from  Little  Aston,  and  since  his  return  not  a 
day  had  passed  without  his  paying  a  visit  to  Madame. 
But  the  little  one  did  not  come  to  see  her  so  often,  said 
Madame  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  sent  to  invite  her  to  visit 
her  in  her  own  home,  which  was  much  more  triste  than  her 
little  garret. 

But  the  chance  came  at  last ;  the  hour  so  long  waited 
for.  The  very  morning  after  Miss  Waldron's  defiance  of 
her  father's  wishes,  Hester  felt  obliged  to  pay  her  last  visit 


RETRIBUTION    BEGUN.  317 

to  Aston  Court, — a  visit  of  gratitude  rather  tlian  of  busi- 
ness. Slie  liad  still  no  special  desire  to  avoid  meeting 
Robert.  Her  large,  girlish  heart  embraced  him,  as  it  did 
her  fathei  and  Rose,  in  a  warmth  of  pity  and  sorrow  whict 
could  never  make  her  feel  indifferent  to  him.  They  were  al 
three  lost  in  a  labyrinth,  where  they  wandered  solitarilj 
and  in  toilsome  paths  ;  and  she,  looking  on  with  tearlul  eyes 
longed  to  lead  them  back  to  a  resting-place. 

She  found    Mr.  Waldron,   as  she   had  hoped,    alone 
and  she  uttered   her  thanks  in    few   but  expressive  words. 
She  told  him  that  the  sum  he  had  advanced    would   meet 
their  expenses  for  the  next  half-year. 

'•  And  what  after  that  ?"  asked  Mr.  Waldron,  in  a  tone 
of  anxiety. 

"loan  scarcely  tell,"  answered  Hester,  with  a  smile 
faltering  between  fear  and  courage,  "  I  am  not  afraid,  not 
very  much  afraid,  at  least.  Something  may  happen  before 
then." 

"  You  would  do  anything  for  your  father's  sake,  Hes- 
ter ?"  he  said. 

"  Anything,"  she  repeated,  fervendy  ;  "  only  show  me 
what  I  can  do,  and  I  will  do  it." 

Mr.  Waldron  took  both  her  hands  into  his,  and  looked 
with  a  marvellous  gentleness  for  him  into  her  pale  face 
with  its  faint  smile. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  plan  in  my  mind 
for  you  which  would  set  your  father  free  from  his  difficul- 
ties, and  place  you  both  in  a  position  above  care  of  any  kind. 
You  are  a  brave  good  girl,  and  I  love  you  like  a  daughter. 
You  could  trust  yourself  in  my  hands,  Hester?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  lifting  her  eyes  to  his,  inquiringly. 

"  Stay  here  a  few  minutes,"  he  added  ;  "  I  am  not  quite 
ready  to  tell  you  my  plan  yet." 

He  went  away,   leaving  her  in  the  room  which   she  re- 


3l8  IIESTKR    MURLEV'S    I'KOMlSi:. 

membered  to  have  first  entered  with  Rose.  The  great  h*fe- 
size  portraits  of  Luther  and  Melancthon  gazed  down  steadily 
upon  her  from  the  wall,  as  they  had  done  when  she  looked 
up  wonderingly  to  them  as  a  little  child.  The  recollection 
was  more  vivid  and  sad  than  usual,  for  she  had  left  Rose  in 
a  paroxysm  of  vain  remorse  in  her  poor  refuge.  She  recall- 
ed their  meeting  with  Robert  in  the  park  the  tirst  time  she 
had  ever  seen  him  ;  and  the  light,  gay,  air  of  happiness 
which  to  her  eyes  had  surrounded  both  him  and  Rose. 
Hester's  face  had  assumed  again  the  pallor  and  care  which 
had  almost  vanished  from  it  for  a  little  while;  and  she 
looked  once  more  like  a  blanched  and  frail  flower  which 
has  grown  up  without  sunshine.  When  Mr.  Waldron  left 
her,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  closed  her  eyes  with 
a  languor  to  which  she  would  not  yield  in  any  one's  pres- 
ence ;  and  so  absorbed  did  she  grow  in  her  melancholy 
thoughts,  that  she  did  not  hear  the  opening  of  the  door,  as 
it  turned  almost  noiselessly  upon  its  hinges. 

It  was  Robert  who  entered,  having  been  found  by  his 
tather,  and  sent  to  learn  his  fate.  He  was  disquieted  and 
trcubled,  and  he  stole  forward  with  the  quietness  of  a  moth- 
er who  fears  to  disturb  the  slumber  of  her  child,  or  with  the 
caution  of  a  naturalist  who  snatches  a  glance  at  some  rare 
wild  denizen  of  the  woods,  which  will  take  to  flight  at  his 
approach.  He  had  not  seen  Hester  since  the  evening  she 
had  spent  at  Aston  Court, — that  happy  evening  which  had 
seemed  to  him  an  omen  of  good  both  to  himself  and  John 
Morley.  But  how  changed  she  was  in  her  attitude  of  sor- 
rowful languor  !  What  lines  of  new  care  and  anxiety  were 
upon  her  beautiful  face  I  He  would  give  the  whole  world  to 
comfort  her  and  to  shield  her  from  every  breath  of  adver- 
sity in  the  future.  How  should  he  let  her  know  how  much 
he  loved  her  ? 

"  Hester  I ''  he  whispered  after  a  while,  in  a  low  tone, 


KKrKir.U'j'ioN  i5E(;ux.  319 

but  one  which  aroused  her  from  her  reverie  and  sent  the 
color  flushing  swiftly  to  her  cheeks  and  forehead.  She 
had  not  known  that  he  was  at  home  ;  and  this  was  the 
first  time  she  had  met  him  since  she  had  found  her  father's 
wite,  a  wretched  and  broken-hearted  woman,  in  the  streets. 
A  peculiar  tempest  of  emotion  swept  across  her.  She  had 
pitied  him  with  a  very  true,  a  \'ery  deep,  a  very  tender  com- 
passion ;  and  this  pity  still  lived  in  her  heart.  But  the 
sense  of  his  sin  had  increased  tenfold  since  Rose  also  had 
been  cast  directly  upon  her  compassion "  and  mercy.  She 
knew  he  had  repented  of  it,  and  his  repentance  had  bound 
her  to  cover  it  with  the  same  charity  which  she  extended 
to  Rose.  But  there  was  an  expression  upon  his  grave  face 
which  made  her  eyelids  quiver,  though  she  would  not  lower 
them,  and  sent  a  chilly  dread  of  him  shivering  through  her. 
He  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to  cast  himself  precipitately 
upon  her  agitation  and  tremor.  He  did  not  know  what  ad- 
verse shadow  stood  between  them. 

"  Hester,  "  he  said,  drawing  near  to  her,  but  not  daring 
to  touch  her  hand,  which  hung  motionless  at  her  side,  "  my 
father  has  sent  me  to  you  j  I  come  here  by  his  wish  to  tell 
you  now  what  I  have  longed  to  tell  you  a  thousand  times. 
I  love  you,  and  have  loved  you  from  the  first  moment  I 
saw  you.  Hush  !  Let  me  speak  first,  I  beseech  you.  If 
you  would  only  believe  me,  I  have  loved  you  from  the  mo- 
ment when  I  first  saw  you  as  a  little  child,  from  the  time 
you  first  let  me  hold  you  in  my  arms.  It  is  very  long  ago, 
but,  if  it  had  not  been  for  one  false  step,  I  should  have 
asked  you  long  before  this  to  be  my  wife.  My  father  loves 
you  already  as  his  daughter.  You  have  power  over  me, 
Hester ;  you  can  mould  me  to  your  will.  With  you  beside  me, 
I  shall  become  whatever  you  wish  to  make  me.  It  is  my 
soul  I  commit  to  you  ;  I  implore  you  to  lead  me  to  all  that 


320  HESTER    MORLEV  S    TRUMISE. 

is  good  and  Christian.     I  love  you  most  of  all  because   I 
believe  you  will  help  me  to  work  out  my  salvation."' 

He  had  spoken  with  profound  earnestness,  and  with 
long  pauses  between  the  sentences,  as  if  waiting  for  some 
token  from  her.  He  knew  that  it  was  better  to  appeal  to 
her  religious  sympathies  tlian  to  expatiate  on  his  own  pas- 
sion. He  saw  the  color  fade  away  from  her  face,  and  be 
followed  by  a  deadly  paleness  ;  but  this  was  the  only  change. 
He  did  not  know  whether  this  immobility  augured  good  or 
ill ;  but  he  resumed  his  broken  speech  with  a  more  pathet- 
ic passion. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Hester .?"  he  asked.  "  I  tell  you  it  is 
my  soul  I  commit  to  you  to  do  what  you  will  with  it.  I 
know  myself  well.  If  I  loved  any  other  woman,  as  I  love 
you,  she  might  ruin  me  body  and  soul,  if  she  chose.  But 
you  would  save  me.  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  say  which 
would  prevail  with  you  more  than  this .''  If  you  consent  to 
be  my  wife,  I  can  be  a  real  Christian.  I  shall  be  sure  that 
God  has  pardoned  my  sin  ;  cast  it.  as  you  would  say,  like 
a  stone,  into  the  depths  of  the  sea,  to  be  remembered 
against  me  no  more  forever.  I  have  asked  this  of  Him,  as 
a  sign  of  His  forgiveness.  For  God's  sake,  Hester,  do  not 
drive  me  to  despair.     Let  me  have  God's  love  and  yours." 

He  knew  well  that  he  must  not  kneel  at  her  feet,  or  take 
her  hand  into  his  ;  but  he  drew  so  near  to  her  that  he  could 
almost  whisper  the  words  into  her  ear.  Still  she  did  not 
move  or  speak  or  raise  her  eyelids,  which  had  sunk  at  last. 
He  only  felt  more  than  saw,  that  she  was  trembling  a  little. 

"  Ah  !"  he  cried,  with  a  ring  of  bitterness  and  self-re- 
proach in  his  voice,  "  I  know  what  keeps  you  silent.  But 
even  she,  if  she  were  living,  would  bid  you  forgive  and  lis- 
ten to  me." 

"Is  she  then  not  living?"  asked  Hester,  her  lips  white 
and  quivering,  so  that  she  could  scarcely  utter  the  question. 


RETRIBUTION    BEGUN.  321 

"  I  believe  not,"  he  answered  hurriedly.  "  I  have  many 
reasons  to  believe  it.  The  past  can  die  now  and  be  bur- 
ied. Think  what  we  could  do  for  your  father ;  how  I  could 
make  atonement  to  the  utmost.  How  rich  we  could  make 
him — how  happy  yet  among  his  books!  In  a  little  time 
he  must  come  in  contact  with  fresh  troubles,  perhaps  dis- 
grace. I  would  shield  him  from  every  care ;  and  he  is 
growing  old.  What  will  become  of  you  when  he  is  old  and 
very  poor,  my  darling?  Let  me  make  this  atonement  for  his 
sake.     Think  of  him."' 

"  I  do  think  of  him,"  murmured  Hester;  "and  for  his 
sake  I  should  say,  No,  even  if  I  loved  you  as  you  wish, — if 
I  loved  you  as  much  as  you  say  you  love  me.  You  have 
never  fairly  looked  at  what  you  have  done.  You  have  never 
repented  of  your  sin." 

"  Not  repented  !  "  echoed  Robert. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  repentance  is,"  cried  Hester, 
her  grey  eyes  flashing  with  a  light  he  had  never  seen  in 
them.  "  Oh,  if  you  had  repented,  you  could  never  ask  me 
to  be  your  wife  !  Me  !  Is  it  possible  that  you,  or  your  father, 
could  ever  think  of  me  ?  No.  You  have  borne  no  punish- 
ment for  your  sin ;  and  it  is  not  in  your  nature  to  repent 
without  punishment." 

"  Borne  no  punishment !"  he  repeated.  "What  then 
do  you  call  the  ten  years  of  exile  which  banished  me  from 
my  home  ? " 

"  They  were  years  of  pleasant  travel  in  foreign  iaftds," 
she  answered.  Have  you  not  told  me  of  them  ?  You  had 
everything  you  could  wish,  and  you  enjoyed  the  time  fully. 
When  you  began  to  yearn  for  home  again,  yo^  r-eturned  to 
it.  I  will  tell  you  who  has  borne  \h^  punishment :— My 
father,  who  has  never  smiled  since  you  sinned  ;  and  she, 
who  has  no  home  and  no  friends,  who  has  been  an  outcast 


1 


322  HESTKR    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

in  the  world,  despised  and  broken-hearted.  If  you  could 
see  her  now,  would  you  dare  to  ask  me  to  be  your  wife .? " 

To  Hester  the  image  of  Rose  was  very  present ;  but  to 
Robert  it  was  a  memory  of  so  many  years  past,  and  so  un- 
welcome an  intruder,  that  he  could  not  summon  it  readily 
to  his  mind.  As  he  had  told  Hester,  he  felt  assured  that 
she  was  dead,  for  such  lost  ones  seldom  live  without  giving 
some  sign  of  their  existence.  But  there  was  something  in 
Hester's  tone  and  face  which  made  his  heart  die  within  him. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  indignant  or  impassioned.  There 
was  rather  a  tranquil  yet  intense  pity  for  him,  which  placed 
her  at  an  immeasurable  height  above  him. 

"  O  Hetty,''  he  cried,  "  little  Hett)',  is  it  quite  impossible 
for  me  to  win  your  love  }  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  troubled  v^oice. 
"  It  is  impossible  ;  you  must  know  it  to  be  impossible.  Oh, 
why  did  you  ever  think  of  such  a  thing?  How  could  yon 
ever  think  of  it  ?  " 

They  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  in  silence,  her  calm, 
compassionate  eyes  shining  upon  him  from  across  the  great 
gulf  between  him  and  her.  "  Besides  all  this,"  said  a  voice 
in  his  inmost  soul,  "between  us  and  you,  there  is  a  great 
gulf  fixed  :  so  that  they  which  would  pass  from  hence  to 
you  cannot:  neither  can  they  pass  to  us  that  would  come 
from  thence." 

"  Hester,"  he  cried  again,  "  have  pity  upon  me.  This 
is  my  punishment  indeed." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you  "  answered  her  pitiful  voice  ; 
"  but  you  ought  to  have  felt  at  first  that  it  would  be  impos- 
gible.  My  father  would  rather  go  down  to  the  very  depths 
pf  poverty  t};ari  see  me  here.  Good-bye.  I  can  never 
come  again," 

He  had  thrown  himself  upon  a  chair,  and  hidden  his 
face  from  the  steady  reproachful  compassion  of  her  look  ; 


RETRIBUTION    BEGUN.  323 

and  she  lingered  for  a  minute,  looking  sorrowfully  at  him, 
and  around  the  room  she  should  enter  no  more.  This 
life  of  wealth  and  ease  would  have  been  very  pleasant ; 
even  the  brief  snatches  she  had  seen  of  it  liad  been  .m  en- 
joyment to  her.  She  was  growing  a  little  weary  of  the  long 
daily  struggle,  and  the  sordid  cares  of  poverty.  If  things 
had  been  different,  what  a  glory  it  would  have  been  to 
John  iNIorley  to  see  his  daughter  the  mistress  of  Aston 
Court !     But  it  was  impossible  now. 

Robert  Waldron  heard  her  murmur  good-bye  once  more, 
but  he  did  not  raise  his  head.  She  lingered,  as  if  searching 
for  some  word  to  comfort  him,  but  there  was  none  which 
her  lips  could  utter.  He  listened  to  her  footfall  across  the 
floor  to  the  glass-doors  opening  upon  the  terrace,  but  he 
could  not  believe  that  she  was  going  to  leave  him.  He 
raised  his  head  in  time  to  catch  a  last  glance  of  her  pity- 
ing face,  and  her  gesture  of  farewell ;  and  then  Hester  was 
lost  to  him.  He  did  not  think  of  following  her.  Eleven 
years  ago,  he  had  bartered  for  the  pleasures  of  sin  for  a 
season,  the  happiness  he  craved  in  vain  to-day. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

A   PASTORAL  VISIT. 

IT  is  impossible  to  describe  the  disappointment  of  Mr. 
Waldron,  when,  after  an  hour's  absence,  he  returned  to 
the  house,  and  found  Robert  alone  and  Hester  gone. 
Robert  told  him  of  his  rejection  with  a  suppressed  mourn- 
fulness  which  troubled  his  father's  heart  more  than  the 
most  vehement  expressions  of  grief.  Mr.  Waldron  felt  a 
little  mortified  that  Hester's  conscience  should  be  more 
sensitive  than  his  own.  If  he,  a  deacon  of  the  church,  had 
considered  his  son's  early  error  atoned  for,  and  consigned 
to  oblivion,  why  should  this  young  girl  set  up  her  childish 
judgment  against  his  ?  Yet  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  knew 
that  she  was  right.  Robert,  even  in  the  first  shock  and 
agony  of  his  disappointment,  acknowledged  the  same.  It 
was  in  truth  a  greater  shock  to  him  than  it  ought  to  have 
been  ;  for  in  spite  of  all  his  doubts  and  hesitations,  there 
had  really  been  a  well-grounded  assurance  in  his  mind  that 
Hester  would  not  reject  him,  with  all  his  advantages ;  but 
she  had  now  done  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  pluck  up  every 
root  of  hope.  She  had  said  it  was  impossible  with  such 
utter  decision,  blended  with  an  inexpressible  pity, — a  pity 
which  he  felt  keenly  could  never  grow  into  love, — that  he 
knew  he  must  never  again  approach  her,  or  address  himself 
to  her  on  this  subject.  He  loved  her  more  passionately 
than  before,  but  a  dull  despair  had  joined  itself  to  his  pas- 


A   PASTORAL   VISIT.  325 

sion.     Those  pangs  of  punishment  without  which,  she  had 
said,  he  could  not  repent,  had  already  come  upon  him. 

This  state  of  mind,  a  novel  one  to  Robert  Waldron, 
might  have  proved  salutary,  but  for  the  intervention  of  his 
sister,  who,  while  rejoicing  that  Hester  had  declined  the 
honor  offered  her,  could  not  forgive  her  for  its  rejection. 
When  Mr.  Waldron  announced  to  her  that  Hester  had 
positively  refused  her  brother,  she  could  not  refrain  her 
tongue  from  a  spiteful  little  speech,  uttered  in  Robert's 
hearing. 

'•  Don't  talk  to  me  aboi^t  Hester  JNIorley's  SQiuples,"  she 
said  ;  "  I  know  her  too  well.  It  is  because  we  have  chosen 
a  handsome  boy  for  our  pastor  that  she  has  said  No  to 
Robert." 

"  What   do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Waldron,  whose 
chagrin  was  only  second  to  his  son's. 

"  I  mean,''  she  answered,  '•  that  Carl  Bramwell  is  in  love 
with  her,  and  she  with  him.  I  have  suspected  it  for  some 
time  ;  and  he  confessed  it  to  me  only  the  other  evening. 
If  we  had  invited  David  Scott  to  the  church  at  Little  As- 
ton, Hester  Morley  would  have  been  only  too  proud  to  ac- 
cept Robert." 

Neither  Mr.  Waldron  nor  Robert  felt  quite  sure  of  this, 
yet  the  poisoned  shaft  entered  into  their  hearts.  Mr.  Wal- 
dron's  thoughts  turned  with  regret  to  the  day  when  among 
the  seventy  students  at  the  College  he  had  selected  this 
polished  and  scholarly  young  man  to  become  the  success- 
ful rival  of  his  son.  He  could  not  help  being  fond  of  Carl, 
and  he  had  had  in  the  beginning,  a  scheme  for  furthering 
a  love-match  between  him  and  his  favorite,  Hester.  But 
that  was  before  he  had  ever  thought  of  her  as  his  own  pos- 
sible future  daughter,  and  now  he  could  only  be  sorry  that 
he  had  chosen  him  for  the  pastor  of  their  little  church. 

As  for  Hester,  she  retraced  her  steps  homewards,  after 


326  HESTER    MORLEV'S    rR(JMISE. 

her  interview  with  Robert,  in  a  strange  mood  of  bewilder- 
ment and  conflicting  feelings.  The  fine  old  park,  fresh 
clothed  in  the  beauty  of  spring,  lay  around  her  ;  and  she 
could  scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  she  had  just  refused  to 
become  mistress  of  it,  and  of  the  great  mansion  belonging 
to  it,  which  was  the  grandest  place  she  had  ever  seen.  The 
larch-trees  were  fringed  and  tasselled  with  green  leaflets, 
with  a  crimson  cone  here  and  there  among  them  ;  and 
the  noble  smooth-limbed  beeches  were  white  with  their 
satin  leaf-buds.  The  scent  of  violets  hidden  about  the  roots 
of  the  trees,  and  of  cowslips  nodding  among  the  grass,  was 
wafted  past  her  upon  the  soft  breeze.  High  over  head  rose 
the  sky,  higher  and  serener  than  in  winter,  and  a  few  cool 
grey  clouds  floated  across  it.  How  different  was  all  this 
from  the  close  street,  and  the  gloomy  walls,  and  the  dusky 
windows  of  her  home  !  Hester  sighed  heavily,  and  there  was 
a  multitude  of  regrets  in  her  sigh.  Alas  !  for  the  time  that 
had  gone  by,  and  the  ineffaceable  sin  which  had  been 
stamped  upon  it  forever. 

She  knew  by  the  deep  trouble  of  her  own  heart,  that  she 
could  have  loved  Robert  Waldron  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
love  which  might  have  been,  a  fine,  sweet  sense  of  tender- 
ness softened  her  spirit  towards  him.  The  days  came  back 
to  her  vividly  when  she  had  loved  him  with  the  full-hearted 
ardor  of  a  child  ;  and  if  he  had  only  remained  good  and 
true,  so  would  she  have  loved  him  now.  She  began  to  see 
the  nature  of  his  punishment ;  and  to  feel  something  of  its 
weight.  She  wished  passionately  that  he  had  never  seen 
her — but  there,  again,  his  own  disobedience  had  wrought  out 
its  own  consequences.  If  he  had  been  true  to  his  word,  it 
was  possible  that  he  might  never  have  met  with  her  ;  it  was 
certain  that  there  would  not  have  been  the  familiarity  be- 
tween them  which  had  been  brought  about  by  their  fre- 
quent meetings  at  Miidame  Lawson's.     He  must  have  been 


A    PASTORAL    VISIT.  327 

in  love  with  her  all  the  time,  thought  Hester  ;  and  her  face 
crimsoned  at  the  thought. 

She  had  no  one  to  tell  of  what  had  befallen  her  that 
morning, — of  the  vision  which  had  opened  suddenly  to  her, 
but  from  which  she  had  turned  steadfastly  away.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  speak  of  it  to  her  father,  and  still  more  so 
to  Ro;>e.  She  had  not  seen  much  of  Annie  lately,  and  this 
was  not  a  secret  to  tell  to  a  woman  whose  husband  and 
brother  shared  every  thought.  So  she  was  obliged  to  hide 
it  away  during  the  daytime,  while  she  went  about  her  work  ; 
and  at  night  she  pondered  over  it  unhealthily,  contrasting 
what  was  with  what  might  have  been. 

It  was  impossible  for  Carl  not  to  see  upon  Hester's  face 
a  deeper  shadow  than  ika.t  which  had  rested  upon  it  for 
some  time  before  the  evening,  now  several  weeks  ago,  which 
they  had  spent  together  at  Aston  Court.  He  had  not  been 
so  often  at  John  Morley's  house  of  late  ;  but  Grant  told  him 
that  something  was  amiss  with  Hester,  and  that  if  she  did 
not  rally  quickly,  she  would  have  to  leave  home,  which  she 
had  never  left  before,  for  change  of  air.  He  had  said  the 
same  to  Hester  herself,  and  given  her  a  great  dread.  For 
how  could  she  leave  home  now  above  all  other  times,  when 
Rose  was  a  pensioner  upon  her } 

Carl  argued  with  himself  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  pastoi 
to  visit  Hester,  and  he  would  do  so  as  a  pastor  merely.  He 
was  a  little  petulant  when  Annie  inquired  where  he  was 
going,  and  how  long  he  would  be.  His  mind  was  so  intently 
fixed  upon  the  duty  he  w^as  about  to  perform,  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  what  was  passing  around  him,  until  he  found 
himself  in  Hester's  little  sitting-room  up  stairs.  It  was  the 
second  time  only,  that  he  had  been  permitted  to  penetrate 
to  this  room.  He  was  excited  by  it,  why,  he  could  scarcely 
tell.  All  here  belonged  to  Hester;  the  books,  the  little 
desk,  the  work-basket, — no  hand  but  hers  touched  them. 


328  HESTER    MOREKV'S    I'RO.MISE. 

He  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  mysterious  shadow 
Hitting  past  the  dim  casement  of  the  old  nursery  oppo- 
site the  window.  It  was  not  Hester's  figure  but  that 
of  the  strange  unknown  woman,  of  whom  Grant  had  whis- 
pered his  suspicion.  Would  Hester  speak  of  her  to  him  ? 
for  he  was  come  as  her  pastor,  her  guide,  and  adviser,  with 
more  influence  and  authority  than  an  ordinary  friend. 

Asking  himself  very  anxiously  this  question,  for  in  the  an- 
swer to  it  lay  the  possibility  of  a  very  close  intimacy  be- 
tween them,  he  turned  round  upon  hearing  the  lifting  of  the 
latch,  and  met  Hester  face  to  face.  They  spoke  to  one 
another  quietly  ;  but  in  Hester's  veins  as  well  as  Carl's 
there  was  running  a  rapid  current  of  excitement,  which 
would  make  it  possible  for  hirg  to  move  her  either  to  laugh- 
ter or  tears.  All  his  elaborately  prepared  speeches  died 
away  out  of  his  memory  ;  he  could  not  recall  a  word  he  had 
intended  to  say  as  a  pastor  to  this  soul  committed  to  his 
care.  There  fell  a  great  silence  upon  them,  and  an  uncer- 
tainty ;  yet  a  silence  and  uncertainty  more  dainty  perhaps, 
in  its  fluttering  embarrassment,  than  any  eloquent  assurance 
could  have  been.  Hester's  hand  rested  upon  the  table,  and 
Carl  saw  it  and  nothing  else.  He  was  afraid  that  if  he 
looked  into  her  face,  he  should  never  be  able  to  fulfil  his 
office. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  much  of  you  lately,"  he  said  at 
last,  speaking  in  short  sentences  instead  of  the  rounded 
phrases  he  had  intended  to  employ.  "  You  were  commit- 
ted to  my  charge.  I  have  a  right  to  speak.  You  are  in 
great  sorrow.  When  I  look  down  upon  you  ir.  chapel,  your 
face  is  pale  and  sad.  You  do  not  sing  as  you  used  to  do. 
I  know  your  life  is  lonely,  and  very  full  of  cares.  But  God 
has  ordained  it,  and  He  is  infinite  Love.  We  also  love 
you,  Annie,  and  Grant  and  I.  Why  are  you  so  cast  down 
and  disquieted  ?  Is  it  anything  you  can  tell  to  me  ?  I  might 


A    PASTORAL    VISIT.  32$ 

be  able  to  help  you.     Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 
"Oh  !  I   have  been  very  miserable,'*  said   Hester,   with 
a  iharp  accent  of  pain  in  her  voice. 

'•  There  will  come  a  change,"  answered  Carl ;  "  *  though 
heaviness  may  endure  for  a  night,  joy  cometh  in  the  morn- 
ing.'" 

"  The  morning  is  very  long  in  coming,"  she  said,  sighing 

mournfully. 

"  It  may  seem  so,"  he  continued,  "  it  may  even  be  so, 
but  it  is  coming  surely  and  steadily.  You  are  weary  now, 
till  your  heart  faints  within  you,  but  it  will  not  be  forever. 
Cannot  you  tell  me  your  new  trouble?" 

'•  Yes,"  answered  Hester,  acting  upon  a  sudden  impulse 
to  confide  in  him,  though  she  had  resolved  to  bear  her  bur- 
den alone.  It  was  growing  too  heavy  for  her  now,  and  her 
spirit  was  beginning  to  fail.  "  Yes,  I  will  tell  you,  and  you 
can  help  me.  Do  you  see  the  door  and  window  opposite  ? 
There  is  a  little  room  there,  and  some  weeks  ago  my  father 
gave  me  his  permission  to  let  a  poor  woman  come  and  live 
in  it.  She  is  very  poor  and  very  ill.  Mr.  Grant  has  seen 
her." 

"  He  told  me  so,"  said  Carl. 

"  He  believed  she  was  not  likely  to  recover  at  first," 
continued  Hester,  "  but  she  is  getting  better  now  ;  not  so 
strong  that  she  can  ever  go  away,  and  yet  not  so  ill  that 
she  is  near  death.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  She  has  no  friend  in 
the  world  except  me  ;  not  a  creature  to  care  for  her  or  help 
her.  But  we  are  so  poor,  and  I  am  afraid  sometimes  that 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  this  house  altogether  ;  then 
what  is  to  become  of  her  ?  " 

"  You  are  meeting  trouble  half-way  now,"  he  answered 
cheerfully. 

Hester  drew  closer  to  him,  with  a  frightened  face,  and 
whispered  her  next  few  sentences. 


330  IIESTKR   M()RLEV\S   PROMISE. 

"  Hush!  it  is  Rose  Morley,  my  father's  wife.  You  have 
heard  of  her  ?  My  father  never  sees  her  ;  she  runs  no  risk 
of  him  seeing  her.  If  I  had  not  known  she  would  be  safe,  I 
never  dare  have  taken  her  in.  She  was  utterly  homeless 
and  friendless,  and  I  brought  her  here  to  die,  as  we  both 
thought.  You  know  my  father  nearly  killed  Robert  VVal- 
dron  at  our  own  door?  But  now  we  know  "she  may  perhaps 
live  years  and  years  :  think  what  that  means.  Did  I  do 
right  to  take  her  in  ?  Ought  I  to  have  turned  her  away  into 
the  world  ill,  even  dying  as  we  thought  ?  Do  you  think  my 
father  will  not  be  glad  at  last,  when  he  comes  to  know  ?  " 

"  God  bless  you,  Hester,"  cried  Carl,  laying  his  hand 
upon  hers  which  still  rested  upon  the  table,  as  if  she  need- 
ed that  support  to  keep  her  from  trembling  too  greatly. 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is  like  to  go  from  my  father's 
presence  to  hers,"  resumed  Hester.  "  Sometimes  I  won- 
der why  God  lets  such  things  come  to  pass,  and  I  have 
hard  thoughts  of  Him.  That  is  the  worst  of  all.  Don't  be 
shocked  with  me,  but  after  all,  Rose  does  not  seem  so  very 
wicked,  nor  Robert  Waldron.  She  is  very  penitent 
really,  truly  penitent,  and  bears  her  punishment  well ;  but 
she  is  solitary  and  very  sorrowful.  Will  you  sometimes 
come  to  see  her  ?  You  can  come  as  a  minister  without  any 
one  being  surprised  ;  but  you  must  not  be  too  harsh  to 
her.     Will  you  help  me  by  doing  this  for  her." 

"  Help  you  !  "  said  Carl,  "  I  would  give  my  life  for  you." 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying,  and  she  did  not 
seem  to  notice  it.  Once  more  he  saw  the  pale  face  behind 
the  dim  casement  opposite.  Hester  also  saw  it,  and  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"No  one  knows  it  but  me,  and  now  you,"  she  said. 
"  It  has  been  too  heavy  a  burden  for  me  to  bear  alone.  I 
am  not  very  old  yet,  but  I  feel  old,  older  than  almost  any 
one  I  know  ;  a  great  deal  older  than  Lawson's  mother.     I 


A    PASTORAL   VISIl'.  33 1 

suppose  it  is  the  ar^xiety ;  and  now  I  have  more  than  ever. 
Mr.  Grant  said  I  must  leave  home  ;  but  how  can  I  ever 
leave  home  .''  There  was  my  father  first,  and  now  there  is 
Rose  as  well.     You  must  come  and  see  her  for  yourself" 

"  We  will  go  at  once/'  he  answered  ;  yet  he  lingered, 
and  looked  into  her  face  with  the  color  mounting  upon  his 
own,  and  an  expression  of  utter  anxiety  coming  across  it. 
He  had  a  word  or  two  to  say,  which,  left  unspoken,  would 
make  this  interview,  sought  by  him,  altogether  unsatisfac- 
tory and  incomplete.  He  hesitated  and  stammered,  then 
reproached  his  coward  courage,  and  spoke  hastily. 

"I  am  your  pastor,  your  soul  is  committed  to  me.  You 
said  just  now  that  Robert  Waldron  did  not  seem  wicked, — 
that  was  your  own  word — not  wicked  in  your  63-63.  Do 
you  know  that  he  loves  you  .'' '' 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  the  crimson  flush  mantling  her 
cheeks  as  well  as  his,  "  he  told  me  so  ;  but  Rose  is  living 
near  me.  What  could  I  say  to  him  ?  I  could  never,  nevei 
become  his  wife." 

"  Thank  God  !  '  cried  CarL 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

ANOTHER   PASTORAL  VISIT. 

CARL  followed  Hester  clown  stairs,  and  across  the 
court,  which  seemed  dark  to  him,  for  the  glass  in 
the  window  of  the  old  nursery  was  scarcely  transparent, 
and  shed  but  little  light  on  the  outside  staircase  leading  up 
to  it.  Hester  opened  the  door  quietly,  and  Carl  had  time 
to  see  Rose  before  she  was  aware  of  their  entrance.  She 
was  leaning  languidly  back  in  a  cushioned  and  padded 
chair  by  the  fire,  the  light  of  which  fell  upon  her  worn  and 
colorless  face,  and  the  thin  fair  hair  pushed  back  careless- 
ly from  it.  Her  eyes  were  shut,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
wan  woman  was  one  of  complete  dejection  and  of  banish- 
ment from  every  gladness  in  life.  At  the  sound  of  voices 
she  sprang  up  with  a  glance  of  terror  which  showed  how 
she  lived  in  hourly  dread  of  discovery.  There  was  some- 
thing inexpressibly  forlorn  in  the  peculiarity  of  her  circum- 
stances, which  touched  Carl's  heart  to  the  core.  He  clasp- 
ed her  emaciated  hand  in  his  own,  and  pressed  it  with  a 
warmth  and  heartiness  which  he  had  not  ventured  to  be- 
stow upon  Hester's. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?"'  asked  Rose,  looking  him 
searchingly  in  the  face  with  her  dim  blue  eyes. 

"  Hester  has  trusted  me  with  all  your  history,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  am  come  to  see  you,  and  I  shall  come  often, 
to  make  your  life  here  less  solitary.  No  one  .else  knows  ; 
we  alone  have  your  secret." 


ANOTHER    PASTORAL   VISIT.-  333 

"  I  am  only  afraid  of  two  persons  finding  it  out  too 
soon,"  replied  Rose,  drearily  ;  "  my  husband,  and  one  other  ; 
you  know  who  I  mean.  He  was  trying  to  find  me,  and  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  do  nothing  else  but  come  here.  Do  you 
think  he  will  ever  guess  that  I  am  here }  " 

"Never !"  replied  Carl  emphatically. 

"  Hester  tells  me  he  has  never  married,"  said  Rose,  a 
glimmer  of  satisfaction  dawning  upon  her  face  ;  "  I  am 
sorry  for  that.  If  he  had  a  wife  he  would  not  be  troubled 
about  me.  But  even  if  he  did  not  try  to  find  me,  I  could 
not  go  away  from  here.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is  to 
think  of  leaving  my  home  again  ;  it  is  the  only  home  I  have, 
and  Hester  has  promised  I  shall  stay  in  it.  It  is  more 
lonely  than  3'ou  think  ;  I  am  here,  day  and  night,  all  alone, 
yet  I  would  not  go  away  for  the  world.  I  know  my  hus- 
band will  forgive  me  some  time,  and  be  very  sorry  for  me. 
I  have  often  wished  for  some  clergyman  to  talk  to ;  for 
there  are  hundreds  and  thousands  of  questions  keep  coming 
into  my  poor  head.  I  am  not  very  clever;  but,  perhaps, 
you  will  answer  some  of  these  questions.  Only  you  are  a 
very  young  man,  and  you  do  not  know  much  of  life  yet." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  answered  Carl  gently  ;  "  but  I  know 
something  of  God." 

•  Rose  looked  again  steadily  into  his  face,  which  wore  an 
air  of  grave  yet  tender  reverence  even  for  her,  a  lost  and 
wretched  woman.  Her  heart  was  sick  for  some  communion 
with  one  who  had  authority  to  speak  of  God  ;  that  heart- 
sickness  which  forms  the  secret  strength  of  the  priesthood 
in  every  age  ;  and  Carl,  with  his  noble  and  thoughtful  face, 
and  his  keen  eyes  bent  with  unspoken  compassion  upon 
her,  seemed  like  a  messenger  come  from  God  to  her. 

"  I  think  I  could  speak  better  to  you  alone,"  said  Rose. 

Hester  left  them  at  once,  and  Carl,  taking  the  only 
other  chair  which  was  in  the  little  room,  seated  himself  op- 


334  HKSTER  morley's  promise. 

posite  Rose.  She  did  not  seem  in  any  hurry  to  begin  the 
conversation  with  him,  but  sat  playing  Hstlessly  with  her 
work  which  lay  upon  her  lap ;  and  he  waited  patiently  tor 
her  to  ask  him  some  of  the  questions  which  troubled  her. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  I  dare  not  tell  Hes- 
ter," she  said  at  last,  her  head  drooping  and  her  cheeks 
flushing  a  little  ;  '"she  is  like  an  angel  almost,  as  innocent 
and  ignorant.  Sometimes  I  wish  she  was  more  like  other 
girls  ;  but  she  has  always  been  quite  alone,  and  grown  up 
very  strange.  Oh  !  she  is  strange,  is  Hetty.  I  suppose  I 
have  done  something  towards  it.     Are  you  a  friend  of  hers.'"' 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,"  answered  Carl,  smiling  to  himself ; 
for  she  was  not  looking  towards  him,  but  gazing  into  the 
fire  before  her. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  will  know  why  I  feel  a  very,  very  long 
way  off  from  her,"  she  said,  wistfully  ;  "  I  love  her  more 
than  I  can  tell,  but  she  is  as  far  away  as  if  she  were  one  of 
the  stars.  I  can  talk  to  you  better  than  to  her.  I  am  afraid 
to  tell  her  all  my  secret  ;  yet  why  I  do  not  know.  Why 
should  I  be  afraid  of  little  Hetty?" 

Carl  looked  again  at  her  with  a  glance  of  profound  sor- 
row. He  could  have  told  her  that  it  was  her  own  sense  of 
sin  and  shame  which  raised  the  barrier  between  her  and 
Hester,  but  he  did  not.  She  seemed  to  catch  his  meaning 
from  his  silence  ;  for  she  bowed  her  head,  and  burst  into 
an  agony  of  weeping. 

"  Oh  !  I  know,  I  know,"  she  sobbed,  when  she  had  ceas- 
ed to  weep  ;  "  but  how  can  I  come  before  God .''  How  can 
I  help  being  horribly  afraid  of  Him  ?" 

"  Because  God  knows  all  your  life,"  answered  Cai) 
tenderly  ;  "  and  because  His  perfect  holiness  is  consistent 
with  perfect  mercy.  We  can  only  know  in  part,  and  for 
give  in  part ;  but  He  has  that  complete  knowledge  of  you, 
that  you  can   have  no  thought  hidden  from  Him.     There- 


ANOTHER    PASTORAL   VISIT,  335  • 

fore  you  can  go  to  Him  speechlessly  without  drawing  back, 
as  you  do  from  Hester."' 

"  Do  you  think  my  husband  will  ever  forgive  me  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Only  in  part,"  said  Carl,  with  deeper  tenderness  ; 
"  you  must  not  hope  for  more.  I  n  this  as  in  everything  else, 
man  can  only  copy  God  very  imperfectly.  He  will  forgive 
you,  it  may  be,  in  the  hour  of  his  death,  or  yours  ;  but  not 
before.  There  is  a  reproach  and  dishonor  which  cannot 
be  wiped  away." 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  "  cried  Rose,  wringing 
her  hands  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief  and  despair  ;  '•  how  am  I 
to  lead  this  horrible  life  ?  It  would  be  better  for  me  to 
die ;  a  hundred  times  better.  Oh  !  you  don't  know  what 
it  is." 

"  Is  it  much  happier  for  Hester  or  your  husband  ?  " 
asked  Carl,  reproachfully  ;  "  and  they  have  been  guilty  of 
no  sin." 

"  No,"  she  exclaimed,  turning  quickly  upon  him  ;  "  and 
why  does  God  let  them  suffer  for  my  folly  ?  Why  did  not 
God  strike  me  dead,  before  I  brought  all  this  evil  upon 
them  ?  They  have  done  no  wrong,  yet  they  are  as  misera- 
ble as  I  am." 

"I  spoke  rashly,"  he  said  ;  "they  are  far  happier  than 
you.  Hester  at  least  is  not  unhappy  in  herself.  There  is 
no  anguish  like  the  memory  of  sin." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  moaned  ;  "  I  could  bear  anything 
better  than  that.  I  remember  the  time  when  I  did  not 
think  myself  a  sinner.  I  remember  telling  Miss  Waldron 
I  kept  all  God's  commandments.  I  was  a  poor,  silly  thing 
then  ;  I  know  better  now." 

There  was  a  painfully  pathetic  mournfulness  in  this  cori 
fession,  which  Rose  made  in  an  abstracted    and   dream) 


33^  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

tone,  as  if  she  had  lost  herself  in  the  recollecfion  of  those 
innocent  days. 

Carl  did  not  break  in  upon'  her  thoughts  ;  and  the  si- 
lence prolonged  itself  for  several  minutes. 

"  Do  you  know  I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind 
about  telling  you  my  secret,"  she  said,  when  she  roused  her- 
self to  the  consciousness  of  his  presence,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
will  tell  Hester,  and  she  will  be  farther  off  from  me  than 
ever.    Do  you  think  she  will }  " 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is,"  he  answered,  gently  ;  "  and  if  I 
think  she  will,  I  will  keep  it  from  her." 

"Oh  !  "she  said,  shrinking  and  trembling,  while  her  face 
burned, — "  I  have  never  told  anybody  who  knows  my  his- 
tory. They  believe  that  I  am  a  widow  ;  everybody  believed 
it ;  and  that  my  little  girl  is  an  orphan.  I  called  her  Hes- 
ter because — ah  !  I  scarcely  know  why — Hester  was  the 
name  I  loved  best ;  and  I  fancied  somehow  that  she  would 
come  home  to  live  with  the  first  Hester.  But  now  I  dare 
not  tell  her." 

"Where  is  your  little  girl.?"  asked  Carl  in  a  quiet  and 
soothing  voice. 

"  She  was  born  in  France,"  she  answered ;  "  I  left  Fal- 
aise,  and  went  on  and  on  through  the  country,  not  caring 
much,  till  I  came  to  a  little  country  convent,  where  there 
was  a  hospital  for  the  country  people, — for  the  old,  and  sick 
and  children,  something  like  the  work-houses  here ;  but 
not  quite  the  same,  because  the  sisters  were  the  nurses; 
and  there  my  little  child  was  born.  They  did  not  want  to 
christen  her  Hester,  but  they  did  it  at  last,  only  they  added 
^^Taria  to  it ;  Hester  Maria  ;  and  they  kept  us  there  for  six. 
months.  It  was  a  very  strange  six  months.  I  felt  happier 
than  I  did  before,  and  thought  oftener  of  God,  and  of  His 
Son,  Jesus  Christ.  But  I  never  told  the  sisters  about  my- 
self ;  and  after  a  while  I  knew  I  must  do  something  to  get 


ANOTHER    PASTORAL   VISTf.  337 

my  own  living  and  the  baby's.  They  found  me  a  place  as 
lady's  maid,  in  a  Catholic  family,  and  1  had  to  leave  my 
baby  at  the  convent,  and  go  away  to  Paris.  Then  1  chang- 
ed into  an  English  family  ;  and  after  six  years,  I  agreed  to 
come  back  to  England.  I  saw  him,  you  know  who,  once  in 
Paris,  but  he  did  not  see  me,  and  I  felt  quite  faint.  If  Pd 
fainted  he  would  have  known  who  it  was.  So  I  came  back 
to  England." 

"And  your  little  girl  ? "  said  Carl  again. 

"  I  had  scarcely  ever  seen  her,"  continued  Rose's  wail- 
ing voice,  "  but  then  I  paid  the  good  sisters  for  her  board, 
and  brought  her  back  with  me.  She  is  a  pretty  little  thing; 
but  so  quiet,  so  sage  and  still.  She  is  like  the  sisters  them- 
selves ;  you  would  say  she  never  played  or  laughed.  I 
was  obliged  to  put  her  into  a  school  in  London,  and  she 
could  never  have  any  holidays,  for  I  had  no  home,  and  nei- 
ther of  us  have  a  single  friend  in  the  world.  She  has  never 
been  away  from  that  school  for  four  years.,  and  it  is  in  a 
close  street  in  London.  She  does  not  know  what  it  is  to 
love  a  father  or  mother  like  other  children.  Oh  !  why  did 
not  God  strike  me  dead?  And  now  her  last  half-year  has 
not  been  paid,  and  they  will  be  cruel  to  my  poor  little  Hes- 
ter. I  know  what  many  schools  are.  They  won't  send 
her  out  into  the  streets,  but  they  will  make  a  drudge,  and  a 
victim  of  her,  to  bear  everybody's  faults.  Oh  !  I  know  how 
my  little  one  is  suffering  ;  but  if  God  would  only  let  me 
die,  I  am  sure  my  husband  would  let  Hester  have  her  to 
live  with  her.  Don't  you  think  he  would  ?  He  is  a  good 
man." 

Sne  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  broke  again  into 
a  passion  of  tears.  Carl  deliberated  for  some  minutes  be- 
fore attempting  to  offer  her  any  consolation  ;  and  then  he 
laid  his  hand  softly  upon  her  arm. 

" Take  comfort,"  he  said,  ''I  have  formed  a  plan  for 
IS 


338  IIKSTER    MUKI,HV'S    i'KOMLSE. 

your  little  girl,  your  Hester.  She  shall  be  mine.  I  will 
adopt  her  as  my  own  until  Hester  herself  can  take  charge 
of  her." 

"  What  is  it  you  said  ? "  asked  Rose,  incredulously  ;  and 
raising  her  tearful  face  to  look  at  him. 

"  1  will  regard  your  little  Hester  as  my  own  child,"  he 
answered  ;  "I  am  rich  enough  for  that.  You  need  not 
trouble  yourself  any  more  about  her.  She  shall  be  my 
charge." 

"  But  you  live  here  in  Little  Aston,"  she  said,  her  face 
still  clouded  with  incredulity  and  anxiety,  "  you  cannot 
bring  her  here.  I  would  rather  she  died,  the  poor  little 
thing,  than  ever  see  her  father.  She  believes  her  father  is 
dead,  and  in  heaven — in  heaven  !  Oh  !  I  could  not  bear  that 
she  should  ever  know  different.  No,  no  ;  you  cannot  take 
charge  of  my  little  Hester,  living  here." 

"  Has  she  been  happy  where  she  is  !  "  asked  Carl. 

"  Oh !  as  happy  as  a  little  creature  can  be  at  school," 
said  Rose,  "  but  not  as  happy  as  she  was  with  the  good 
sisters.  She  has  been  there  four  years,  and  she  knows 
no  other  kind  of  life.  Only  if  her  bills  are  not  paid, 
I  know  what  sort  of  taunts  she  will  have  to  bear,  and  that 
makes  me  suffer.  I  earn  all  the  money  I  can  by  sewing, 
but  I  do  not  quite  keep  myself ;  and  how  can  I  get  enough 
to  pay  for  her?  And  she  wants  new  frocks  and  other 
clothes,  and  shoes.     What  can  I  do  ?  Whatever  can  I  do  ?  " 

She  dropped  her  face  again  helplessly  upon  her  hands, 
while  Carl  deliberated  once  more. 

There  seemed  nothing  he  could  do,  except  engage  to 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  forlorn,  deserted  little  child,  in  her 
dreary  school-home  in  London.  It  was  true  that  he  could 
not  bring  her  to  Little  Aston,  as  in  the  first  moment  he 
had  thought  of  doing,  where  she  could  be  placed  undei 
Annie's  care.     The  secret  was  not  his  own;  it  belonged  to 


ANOTIIKR    PASTORAL   VISIT.  339 

the  poor  mother,  who  dreaded  that  the  child  should  i'vt:r 
discover  she  had  a  father  not  in  heaven.  He  did  not  even 
know  whether  it  would  be  well  to  confide  it  to  Hester  ;  it 
would  only  add  to  her  cares  and  difficulties.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done  at  present  but  to  pay  the  debts  already 
accumulated,  and  to  leave  the  child  at  school,  until  he  could 
see  more  plainly  how  he  could  make  her  life  happier. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  leave  her  where  she  is,"'  he  said, 
as  soon  as  he  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  "but  if  you  will 
give  me  the  address  1  will  write  to-night,  and  ask  the  mis- 
tress of  the  schoorto  send  her  account  to  me.  You  shall 
see  it,  and  tell  me  if  it  is  correct,  and  then  you  need  feel  no 
further  uneasiness.  I  came  in  order  to  see  if  I  could  give 
you  any  comfort,  any  help.     I   am  very  glad  to  do  this."' 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  such  heart-felt  sympathv,  that 
Rose  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity.  She  flung  herself  on 
her  knees  before  him,  and  when  he  would  not  sutler  her  to 
kiss  his  hands,  she  sank  down  on  the  ground,  crouching  at 
his  feet.  He  raised  her  up,  spoke  a  few  kindly  words  to 
her,  and  then,  seeing  her  agitation  and  trouble  to  be  very 
great,  he  left  her  and  groped  his  way  across  the  dark  court 
into  John  Morley's  house. 

He  did  not  see  Hester  again  alone,  for  it  was  tea-time, 
and  she  was  making  tea  for  her  father  in  his  gloomy  room, 
which,  for  this  one  hour  of  the  day,  put  on  a  more  home- 
like aspect  than  at  any  other.  Carl  sat  down  with  them, 
and  lost  no  movement  or  glance  of  Hester's,  though  his 
eyes  were  seldom  turned  directly  to  her.  A  strong  current 
of  happiness  ran  through  his  whole  being.  There  was  a 
mutual  secret  and  a  mutual  sympathy  between  them  which 
must  draw  them  ver}'  closely  together  in  the  future.  John 
-Vlorley  asked  him  some  indifferent  question  with  regard  tc 
the  poor  woman  he  had  been  to  visit,  and  he  answered  af 
random,  his  thoughts  being  fixed  upon  Hester.     A  gleam  of 


340  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

light,  strangely  sweet  and  sad,  flashed  across  John  Morley's 
grey  face,  as  he  looked  up  at  hearing  Carl's  irrelevant  an- 
swer, and  saw  him  gazing  at  his  daughter.  There  was  no 
one  else  in  Hester's  little  world,  thought  the  father,  whom 
she  could  marry. 

A  little  later  John  Morley  accompanied  Carl  to  chapel, 
where  there  was  a  meeting,  and  walking  side  by  side  with 
him,  put  his  arm  affectionately  through  his.  A  rare  token 
of  friendship  from  a  man  like  him. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

HERESY. 

THERE  were,  however,  rocks  ahead  in  the  hitherto 
smooth  tack  of  Carl's  life-voyage.  He  had  been  sen- 
sitive enough  to  feel  an  immediate  change  in  the  atmosphere 
of  Aston  Court,  and  he  had  attributed  it  to  his  own  confes- 
sion to  Miss  Waldron.  But  there  was  also  rankling  in  Mr. 
Waldron's  mind  the  suspicion,  introduced  to  it  by  his 
daughter,  that  Carl  had  dealt  unfairly  with  regard  to  Hes- 
ter and  Robert.  It  happened,  naturally,  that  he  visited 
John  Morley's  house  more  than  usual  after  his  first  inter- 
view with  Rose  ;  and  the  church  was  at  no  loss  to  account 
for  it.  Many  a  hint  and  allusion  among  the  chapel  people 
as  to  their  young  minister  ^oon  needing  a  house  of  his  own, 
made  Mr.  Waldron  wince  sharply.  He  was  convinced  that 
Robert  would  never  stay  in  the  neighborhood  should  Hes- 
ter become  Carl's  wife.  Without  intention,  he  grew  cool 
towards  him,  and  Carl  was  not  slow  in  withdrawing  from  his 
former  familiar  intimacy  with  his  patron. 

But  there  was  a  more  perilous  rock  ahead  than  the  mere 
darkening  of  the  great  man's  countenance.  It  will  be  diffi- 
cult to  give  Miss  Waldron  credit  for  conscientiousness  in 
what  is  about  to  be  narrated,  but  it  is  necessary  to  do  so. 
Like  the  best  and  wisest  among  us,  she  was  self-deceived 
at  times,  and  saw  through  the  fog  of  her  own  feelings.  She 
believed  herself  to  possess  a  keen  eye  for  the  faintest  speck 
of  heresy.     To  her  purged  sight  it  was  needful  that  the  sun 


342  IIKSriiR    .M(.)RLi:v's    rKOMISH. 

itself  should  shine  without  spots.  Now,  like  most  young 
menofhis  age  and  genius,  Carl's  creed  was  not  as  firmly  root- 
ed and  as  artistically  pruned  as  that  of  elder  men  ]  though 
lie  had  gone  diligently  through  a  system  of  divinity,  and  knew 
very  well  how  to  argue  for  the  peculiar  tenets  of  their  sect. 
But  Miss  Waldron  discovered  traces  of  suspicious  latitu- 
d.narianism,  which  it  was  not  difficult  to  account  for.  Carl 
had  German  proclivities  and  relations,  for  had  he  not  been 
positively  named  after  a  German  friend  and  fellow-student 
of  his  fathers',  who  was  probably  inoculated  with  German 
errors  ?  It  became  her  painful  duty  to  the  church  to  point 
out  these  erroneous  tenets.  If  rationalism  found  its  way 
among  the  simple  flock  at  Little'  Aston,  she  and  her  father 
alone  would  be  responsible. 

Among  the  churches,  no  burr  sticks  so  close  as  the 
charge  of  heterodoxy.  Sunday  after  Sunday  she  watched 
with  a  sharp  eye  for  Carl's  German  predilections,  and  hinted 
her  doubts  and  objections  to  her  father,  till  even  he,  shrewd 
though  he  was,  began  to  listen  with  lessening  confidence  to 
his  eloquent  sermons.  Though  liberal  to  an  extreme  in 
politics,  Mr.  Waldron  was  a  strong  conservative  in  religion, 
and  admitted  but  few  to  the  franchise  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 
He  took  the  alarm  himself,  and  the  suspicion  spread  through 
the  church  like  a  slow  fever.  It  was  found  out  that  the 
younger  members  of  the  congregation  were  asking  questions 
which  it  was  difficult  if  not  impossible  to  answer.  The 
fledglings,  who  had  nestled  contentedly  under  the  safe 
wings  of  old  Mr.  Watson,  were  beginning  to  stir  and  try 
their  own  frail  pinions.  The  mere  phrase  "  German  ration- 
alism" was  a  bugbear  to  the  church,  though  they  knew  no 
more  of  it  than  of  the  differential  calculus.  There  was,  per- 
haps, just  foothold  for  the  charge  of  heterodoxy.  Carl  was  at 
the  time  crossing  the  debatable  ground  which  every  thought- 
ful spirit  has  to   traverse,  and  he  needed  large  charitable 


HERESY.  343 

sympathy  from  his  fellow-pilgrims.     Many  a  soul  is  driven 
from  the  fold  by  the  foolish  sparrings  of  its   fellows. 

It  was  one  Sunday  evening,  after  Carl  had  seemed  to 
forget  the  beaten  tracks,  well  trodden  by  his  predecessors, 
and  had  ventured  upon  newer  and  fresher  pasturage  for 
his  flock,  that  Miss  Waldron  spoke  out  openly. 

"  J  begin  to  think,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  that  we 
should  have  done  better  for  the  church  by  choosing  David 
Scolt.     I  am  sure  Carl  Bramwell's  doctrine  is  not  sound." 

"  His  sermon  to-night  was  very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Wal- 
dron, in  a  tone  of  regret. 

"  But  dangerous  ;  the  moradangerous  for  its  eloquence," 
continued  Miss  Waldron.  "He  preached  works  without 
faith." 

"The  other  day  you  said  he  preached  faith  without 
works,"  observed  Robert,  with  a  sneer,  partly  at  his  sister, 
and  partly  at  Carl. 

'•'I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  he  believes," she  answer- 
ed, peevishly  ;  '•  he  teaches  first  one  thing,  and  then  the  op- 
posite. All  I  know  is,  that  the  females  in  my  classes  are 
quite  unsettled.  I  have  already  detected  the  Socinian 
heresy  in  one  or  two  of  them." 

"  My  dear,"  suggested  Mr.  Waldron,  "  he  cannot  be 
heterodox  in  every  direction." 

"  1  don't  know  that,"  she  argued  ;  "  when  an  intellect  is 
once  perverted,  it  runs  greedily  in  the  way  of  any  error.  But 
I  am  in  great  distress  of  mind  ;  and  I  am  sure  we  ought  to 
call  a  church  m.eeting  about  it.  An  awful  responsibility 
rests  upon  us  ;  in  one  sense  the  church  is  in  our  keeping." 

Mr.  Waldron  mused  a  little  while  with  an  expression  of 
embarrassment  and  pain  upon  his  face.  His  daughter  had 
reached  this  point  by  little  and  little,  with  here  a  word  and 
there  a  word,  until  he  was  really  disturbed  about  the  church  ; 
though  he  felt  an  inward  shame  of  his  disquietude.     The 


344  HESTER    MORLEV  S   PROMISE. 

coolness  between  himself  and  Carl  had  been  gradually  in- 
creasing ;  for  the  latter,  with  all  a  young  man's  dread  of 
sycophancy  and  servility,  had  met  Mr.  \^'aldron's  change 
of  manner  wilh  a  distance  and  reserve  equal  to  his  own. 
He  had  been  even  a  little  too  independent  of  his  patron  in 
his  arrangements  with  respect  to  the  church  ;  and  Mr.  W'al- 
dron  had  felt  chafed  and  angry.  He  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  a  church-meeting  would  do  no  harm  ;  and  the  re- 
sponsibility and  burden  would  be  partly  taken  off  his  shoul- 
ders. Carl  consented  to  summon 'it,  but  declined  to  be 
himself  present. 

Upon  the  occasion  of  this  meeting,  to  the  great  wonder 
of  the  little  church,  the  tall,  thin,  bent  form  of  John  Morley, 
whose  voice  had  been  silent  so  many  years,  rose  up  in  its 
dark  corner,  and  his  tones,  slow  and  tardy  in  their  utter- 
ance, as  that  of  a  man  long  unused  to  speech,  sounded  sol- 
emnly through  the  little  chapel. 

"  You  are  about  to  do  a  great  wrong,  brethren,"  he  said  ; 
"  this  pastor  of  ours  is  a  young  man,  younger  than  any  man 
among  us.  His  mind  is  more  active  than  ours,  and  more 
open  to  mental  and  spiritual  influences.  What  if  he  should 
venture  sometimes  upon  unknown  seas?  I  know  him  well, 
and  I  can  answer  for  him  that  there  is  no  desire  in  his 
heart  so  strong  as  to  know  the  truth ;  and  that  the  truth 
should  make  him  free.  We  do  not  ourselves  know  all  the 
truth  ;  we  can  but  make  guesses  at  it.  And  shall  not  he 
make  his  guesses  also  I  Even  if  he  were  in  error,  would  it 
not  be  wiser,  better, — more  like  Christ,  who  did  not  cas 
away  Peter,  though  he  said  to  Him,  '  Thou  savorest  not 
the  things  that  be  of  God,  but  the  things  that  be  of  men  ;' — 
would  it  not  be  more  like  Him  to  restore  our  pastor,  in  a 
spirit  of  meekness  from  any  error  into  which  he  may  have 
fallen  ?  I  say,  brethren  pray  for  him  as  much  and  as  often 
as  ye  please  ;  but  do   not  set  upon  him,  in  the  very  outset 


HERESY.  345 

of  his  career,  the  brand  of  heresy.  You  may  make  him  what 
he  is  not, — a  heretic." 

John  Morley  sat  down,  and  Hester  crept  closer  to  him, 
and  pressed  his  hand  tightly  in  her  own. 

Miss  Waldron  also  moved  nearer  her  father's  side,  and 
pushed  him  on  with  her  elbow.  She  was  pale,  and  her  lips 
moved  with  nervous  twitchings.  She  was  not  at  all  sure 
what  her  father  would  say  ;  and  ever\'  eye  was  riveted  upon 
him.     The  decision  rested  with  him  alone. 

"Brethren,''  he  said,  "you  have  heard  brother  Morley 
state  that  we  are  all  of  us,  mere  guessers  at  truth.  'What? 
Have  we  not  then  the  open  Bible  in  our  hands  ?  And  have 
we  not,  for  our  better  instruction  in  its  mysteries,  the  Com- 
mentary and  Institutes  of  Calvin  ?  Have  we  not  a  carefully  di- 
gested system  of  theology,  in  which  our  students  are  well 
grounded  before  they  are  sent  forth  as  the  commissioned 
overseers  of  God's  people  ?  The  best  thing  that  brother 
Morley  can  say  is  that  our  pastor  is  making  guesses  at  truth  ! 
But  can  we  trust  our  souls  to  a  guesser  only  ?  Is  not  that 
like  the  blind  leading  the  blind  ?  True,  he  is  younger  than 
we  are  ;  but  we  look  upon  him  as  one  wiser,  better  instruct- 
ed than  we ;  one  whose  whole  time  and  talents  are  conse- 
crated to  the  study  of  religious  truths.  We  bring  our  souls, 
weary  and  fretted  with  the  world,  to  be  comforted  and  nour- 
ished by  him,  whom  we  set  apart  from  the  vexations  of 
worldy  labor.  We  commit  our  youth,  and  our  children  to 
his  teaching.  How  easily  could  he  insinuate  error  into  our 
unguarded  souls  and  the  souls  of  our  children.  There  is 
danger  for  a  church  when  its  leader  and  teacher  is  no 
more  than  a  guesser  at  truth." 

Mr.  Waldron  said  a  good  deal  more  than  he  intended  ; 
but  it  was  so  long  since  he  had  had  the  chance  of  a  wrestle 
with  John  Morley,  that  he  warnied  to  it,  as  the  heart  of  an 
old  soldier  warms  at  the  voice  of  a  foe.     He   expected  his 


346  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

speech  to  bring  his  opponent  to  his  feet  again,  as  in  old 
times  ;  but  John  Morlcy  sat  still,  his  white  hear]  bowed,  and 
his  face  turned  away  from  his  brethren  :  the  brief  flame, 
having  flickered,  had  gone  out.  The  next  speaker  followed 
emphatically  upon  Mr  Waldron's  side ;  and  at  the  close  of 
the  meeting,  which  lasted  double  its  ordinary  time,  it  was 
all  but  formally  decided  that  Carl  was  too  deeply  tainted 
with  heresy  to  be  fit  for  the  pastorate  of  the  small  church 
at  Little  Aston. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

OUT   OF   THE   DARK. 

IT  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  describe  the  agony  and 
dismay  of  Carl  at  the  conduct  of  his  church  in  bringing 
the  charge  of  heresy  against  him.  They  pronounced  him 
to  have  been  found  wanting  in  the  most  vital  point.  He 
had  given  himself  with  unchecked  ardor  and  vigor  to  his 
work.  He  had  felt  a  glow  of  inextinguishable  exultation  in 
calling  himself  a  Christian  minister.  He  had  thrown  over 
all  the  littlenesses  and  follies  and  blemishes  of  his  church 
a  glow  of  spiritual  interest  and  romance.  He  had  clipped 
for  it  the  wings  of  his  ambition,  which  had  been  stretched 
for  a  higher  sphere  than  Litde  Aston.  He  had  thought  of 
it,  cared  for  it,  dreamed  for  it,  studied  it,  as  a  young  hus- 
band cares  of  and  studies  his  bride.  And  now  !  Scarcely  a 
year  had  elapsed  since  he  had  espoused  her  in  all  her  mean- 
ness and  poverty,  and  she  had  turned  against  him  as  one 
unfit  to  be  her  head. 

There  was  not  even  a  division  of  opinion  in  the  church. 
One  and  all  had  followed  in  the  wake  of  Mr.  Waldron,  who 
had  been  betrayed  into  a  course  from  which  he  could  not 
retreat  with  dignity ;  though  he  longed  for  the  church  to 
assert  its  own  independence,  and  to  drive  him  from  his 
position.  On  the  contrary,  everybody  agreed  with  him. 
He  even  began  to  suspect  that  his  daughter  had  been  using 
him  as  a  cat's-paw ;  and  in  his  quickened  shrewdness  he 
fancied  the  offence   Carl   was  being  punished   for  was  very 


348  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

far  removed  from  heresy.  It  weighed  very  heavily  with  him, 
that  the  youns  minister  should  quit  his  first  charge  with 
the  stigma  of  unsound  doctrine  attaching  to  him. 

For  it  soon  came  to  that.  Carl,  with  the  generous  im- 
patierice  of  youth,  would  not  stay  with  his  church  if  it  turned 
cold  ungrateful  looks  upon  him.  He  sent  in  his  resignation, 
in  a  letter  written  in  bitter  sorrow  and  hot  anger,  as  a  lover 
might  bid  farewell  to  a  faithless  mistress.  He  must  leave 
Annie  and  Grant,  he  must  leave  even  Hester.  He  must 
throw  himself  afresh  upon  the  world,  dishonored  by  no 
slight  dishonor.  From  his  earliest  boyhood  he  had  been 
set  apart  and  trained  for  the  ministry,  to  which  his  father 
and  his  father's  father  had  belonged,  and  now  he  was  de- 
clared unworthy  of  his  office  !  He  did  not  know  how  to 
turn  himself  to  any  other  pursuit.  It  was  even  possible, 
for  any  calamity  seemed  possible  after  this,  that  he  might 
come  to  be  in  want  of  bread.  The  prospect,  looked  at  in 
the  brightest  light,  was  but  dismal  :  looked  at  from  the 
sombre  gloom  of  his  spirits,  it  was  desperate.  With  the 
loss  of  his  reputation  for  othodoxy,  he  seemed  to  have  lost 
everything. 

The  church  was  then  meeting  for  the  reception  of  his 
resignation,  and  he  was  deeply  sunk  in  melancholy  musing, 
when  his  study-door  softly  opened,  and  he  could  scarcely 
give  credence  to  his  own  senses.  There  stood  John  Mor- 
ley,  breathless  and  palpitating,  with  an  air  of  self-amazement 
and  fear  upon  his  face.  He  looked  in  at  Carl,  as  if  he  were 
in  a  dream  ;  but  the  gripe  he  gave  to  his  outstretched  hand 
was  anything  but  doubtful  or  nerveless. 

"  I  could  not  stay  after  your  letter  was  read,"  said  John 
Morley.  "  Do  you  know  all  that  is  likely  to  befall  you  ? 
Do  you  know  what  reports  will  go  out  against  you  to  the 
other  churches .''" 


OUT   OF   THE   DARK.  34y 

"  I  foresee  all,"  answered  Carl,  with  a  profound  sigli, 
which  was  almost  a  sob. 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  enter  some  other  denomination?  " 
he  asked.  "You  would  be  welcomed  among  many  ;  but 
they  would  not  be  the  people  of  your  fathers." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  an  aspect  of  sad  resolution. 
•'  I  cannot  change  the  creed  I  received  from  my  forefathers. 
I  must  remain  among  my  own  people,  even  if  I  cease  to  be 
a  minister  among  them." 

"  Then  what  will  become  of  you  ?  how  will  you  livte  ? " 
asked- John  Morley. 

"God  knows,"  said  Carl,  almost  with  a  smile. 

"  My  boy,"  continued  John  Morley,  sadly,  "  ten  years 
ago  I  was  comparatively  a  rich  man,  and  I  wish  I  were  so 
still,  for  your  sake.  But  I  have  few  possessions  now  except 
debts  and  my  Hester.  Still,  give  an  ear  to  me.  If  you 
should  be  put  out  of  the  ministry,  there  could  be  no  occupa- 
tion more  suited  to  you  than  mine.  You  maybe  a  student  and 
a  scholar,  if  you  are  a  bookseller.  Nay,  you  may  yourself 
become  a  writer  of  books.  Come  to  me,  then.  My  busi- 
ness was  once  good  enough,  and  in  young  hands,  like  yours, 
it  would  thrive  again.  Do  not  despise  it,  Carl.  It  seems 
to  me  as  if  you  might  lift  me  out  of  my  Slough  of  Despond. 
But  this  is  only  if  you  should  fail  in  getting  another  charge. 
I  trust  another  pulpit  will  soon  be  given  to  you." 

John  Morley  had  spoken  hurriedly  and  stammeringly, 
and  Carl  had  kept  silent  in  amazement.  But  when  he  end- 
ed, and  stretched  out  his  trembling  hand  to  him,  Carl 
caught  it  eagerly,  and  bowed  down  his  head  upon  it  to  hide 
his  tears. 

"  Despise  it ! "  he  cried,  "  your  home  would  be  like  a 
heaven  to  me.  You  love  me  then  ?  You  would  take  me 
as  your  son  1  " 


350  HESTER   MORLEY's   PROMISE. 

"•  With  all  my  heart,  my  boy,"  said  John  Morley,  lay- 
ing his  other  hand  tenderly  upon  the  young  man's  head. 

"  And  I  accept  your  offer  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Carl, 
after  a  brief  silence.  "  You  know  I  believe  myself  called 
by  God  to  this  ministry  ;  but  if  He  gives  me  no  place  in 
another  church,  I  will  return  here  gladly,  as  freely  to  }0u 
as  to  a  father.  We  will  confront  the  world  together  ;  and 
it  will  go  hard  with  me  ind(jed,  if  I  do  not  win  bread  for  you 
and  Hester,  as  well  as  for  myself" 

A  brighter  look  was  upon  John  Morley's  face  than  Carl 
had  ever  seen  there.  He  asked  him  to  walk  home  with 
him,  as  if  he  shrank  from  traversing  a  second  time  the 
streets  to  which  he  had  been  so  long  a  stranger  ;  and  Carl 
accompanied  him  in  a  trance  of  mingled  joy  and  sadness. 
The  dark  gables  of  John  Morley's  house,  standing  out 
against  the  darkness  of  the  sky,  possessed  a  new  beauty 
for  him.  Even  the  dismal  sitting-room,  with  its  worn-out 
furniture,  had  a  glory  about  it.  He  could  very  well  pass  a 
blissful  life  here  with  Hester.  The  future  was  no  longer  so 
dreary  and  blank  to  him  :  for  if  he  were  compelled  to  re- 
linquish the  lawful  ambition  of  his  calling,  here  would  be 
his  happiness  as  well  as  scope  for  his  scholarly  pursuits. 
He  was  already  painting  the  coming  years  in  bright  colors, 
while  he  watched  John  Morley  light  his  lamp,  when  he  saw 
him  casting  an  anxious  and  nervous  glance  at  the  black 
panes  of  the  uncurtained  window. 

*'  Carl,"  he  whispered,  as  if  fearful  of  being  overheard 
by  some  one  without.  "  1  have  a  fancy  some  nights  of  a 
face  which  looks  in  upon  me  out  of  the  dark.  I  have  never 
spoken  of  it  to  Hester,  lest  a  child  like  her  should  be  fright- 
ened.    But  look  now  at  yonder  corner." 

Carl  looked  earnestly,  and  detected  in  the  thick  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  the  wan  outline  of  Rose's  face,  far  enough 
from  the  casement  to  be  only  a  dim  and  indistinct    sketch. 


OUT   OF   THE   DARK.  35I 

I'.ut  it  was  there,  with  far-off  eyes,  gazing  in  upon  her  hus- 
band. A  thrill  of  dread  and  compassion  for  them  both  ran 
through  him.  If  John  Morley  should  only  resolve  to  verify 
for  himself  the  reality  of  this  haunting  face,  what  would  hap- 
pen ?  He  fi.xed  his  eyes  more  keenly  upon  the  apparition, 
and  advanced  a  step  or  two  nearer  the  window,  and  it  van- 
ished suddenly  into  the  darker  shades  of  the  night. 

"  Do  you  see  anything?  "  asked  John    Morley  eagerly. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  answered  Carl,  the  prevarication 
jarring  upon  his  delicate  sense  of  truth  ;  "  but  you  should 
have  a  curtain  to  this  window.  These  fancies  are  not  good 
for  you." 

"  Nay,  I  like  the  night  to  stare  in  upon  me,"  he  replied 
gloomily.  "  I  wonder,  at  times,  if  it  sees  any  creature  as 
like  itself  as  I  am  ;  neither  sun  nor  stars  in  many  days  ap- 
pearing and  no  small  tempest  lying  on  me.  No,  no.  Let 
that  face,  as  well  as  the  night,  stare  in  to  see  what  sort 
of  a  wretch  lives  here." 

He  sat  down  on  his  own  chair,  with  his  grey  face  half 
turned  from  the  window,  and  the  full  light  of  the  lamp  fall- 
ing upon  it.  He  sank  into  a  long,  dreamy  fit  of  reverie, 
while  Carl  watched  anxiously  the  black,  blank  casement  be- 
yond him.  The  pale  shadow  of  John  Morley's  wife  looked 
in  no  more ;  but  Carl,  before  going  away,  resolved  to  warn 
Rose  of  the  risk  .she  ran  in  thus  venturing  to  gaze  in  upon 
the  hearth  she  had  forsaken  and  lost  forever. 


CHAPTER  L. 

ANOTHER   CALL. 

MR.  WALDRON'S  first  action,  after  having  perform- 
ed the  painful  duty  of  reading  to  the  church  Carl's 
resignation,  was  to  write  at  once  to  Dr.  Hervey,  the  princi- 
pal of  the  college,  and  entreat  him  to  do  all  in  his  power  to 
procure  the  young  discarded  minister  a  new  charge.  He 
found  it  a  very  difificult  matter  to  explain  his  own  conduct ; 
but  what  is  there  that  cannot  be  explained,  almost  to  satis 
faction,  when  it  is  a  self-explanation  which  is  given?  Carl's 
heresy  dwindled  down  into  certain  refinements  of  theolo- 
gical and  metaphysical  distinctions  too  abstruse  for  the  sim- 
ple church,  which  could  only  digest  the  food  of  babes. 
Nothing  would  give  Mr.  Waldron  greater  pleasure  than  to 
see  Carl  in  a  position  where  his  active  and  energetic  mind 
could  find  more  congenial  hearers  ;  and  if  the  doctor  could 
hit  upon  any  plan  for  advancing  his  interests,  he  would  do 
anything  in  his  power  to  further  them. 

In  the  meantime,  David  Scott  came  down  to  take  Carl's 
place  in  the  pulpit,  and  to  be  patronized  by  Miss  Waldron  ; 
while  he  stood  on  one  side,  and  saw  David  drive  away  in 
her  carriage,  and  himself  only  acknowledged  by  a  freezing 
bow,  strangled  in  its  birth.  Carl  laughed  at  times,  and  chaf 
ed  at  times;  and  then  repented  of  both  natural  emotions, 
with  a  sincere  effort  to  gain  the  mastery  over  nature.  An- 
nie felt  the  same,  and  yielded  without  any  attempt  at  all 
to  conquer  herself;  she  only  longed   for  some  opportunity 


AN'OTIIER    CALL.  353 

of  speaking  with  feminine  fidelity  to  her  former  friend.  Rob- 
ert came  no  more  to  Grant's  house,  though  he  was  cordial 
with  Grant  himself,  when  he  met  him. 

It  became  a  question  with  Carl  whether  he  should  not  at 
once  accept  John  Morley's  offer.  He  had  so  modest  an 
opinion  of  himself  that  it  did  not  seem  beneath  him  to  con- 
descend to  the  business  of  a  bookseller  ;  and  he  spent  the 
greater  portion  of  his  time  in  John  Morley's  house,  with  the 
idea  that  he  was  learning  something  of  it.  He  drew  closer 
to  every  member  of  the  isolated  household.  Once  again, 
as  she  went  about  the  house,  Hester  sang  gravely,  but 
sweetly,  songs  which  stirred  his  heart  with  the  most  deli- 
cious tremor.  A  blessed  calm  visited  the  desolate  home. 
Even  John  Morley's  worn  face  and  sunken  eyes  seemed  to 
catch  a  reflection  of  the  pervading  peace  j  as  if  he  had  at  last 
consented  to  a  truce  with  his  tormenting  memories.  Carl 
began  to  think  that  his  pastorate  was  there,  and  that  the 
little  flock  given  into  his  care  numbered  only  John  Morley 
and  Hester  and  the  lost  and  banished  one,  hidden  from  the 
sight  of  all  men. 

But  before  long,  in  the  midst  of  this  slumber  of  am 
bition,  came  s  more  important  call  than  before  for  Carl. 
There  was  a  great  spring  gathering  of  their  denomination 
in  London,  and  Mr.  Waldron  was  to  take  the  chair  at  the 
chief  public  meeting.  In  his  palmiest  days  at  Aston  Court, 
Carl  would  never  have  dreamed  of  being  present  as  a 
speaker  at  this  meeting,  where  the  greatest  of  their  preach- 
ers would  occupy  the  platform.  But  his  friend  Dr.  Hervey, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  appointed  speakers,  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  illness  a  day  or  two  before,  and  sent  for 
Carl.  He  told  him  what  he  wished  to  say  and  started  him 
off  at  once  for  London. 

Carl  achieved  one  of  those  brilliant  and  dangerous  suc- 
cesses which  occasionally  fall  to  the  lot  of  young  orators. 


354  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

He  took  the  meeting  by  storm,  and  made  every  speech 
succeeding  his  fall  flat  upon  the  excited  minds  of  the  audi- 
ence. Miss  Waldron,  who  held  a  prominent  place  on  the 
platform,  drew  her  veil  over  her  face  and  wept  some  of  the 
bitterest  tears  of  her  life.  When  the  etiquette  of  the  meet- 
ing permitted  it,  all  the  speakers  crowded  round  Carl,  whose 
father  had  been  known  to  most  of  them,  and  congratulated 
him  upon  his  triumph.  Mr.  Waldron  shook  hands  with 
him  publicly,  and  was  loudly  cheered  for  doing  so.  There 
was  no  longer  a  fear  for  Carl's  future  ;  and  his  heterodoxy 
was  forgiven  and  forgotten  on  the  spot. 

Carl's  absence  from  Little  Aston,  which  he  had  supposed 
would  be  only  for  three  or  four  days,  prolonged  itself  into 
weeks.  Sunday  after  Sunday  he  was  called  upon  to  supply 
some  pulpit  in  London  and  the  neighborhood.  It  ended 
in  his  being  invited  to  become  co-pastor  of  one  of  the  first 
and  richest  churches  in  London,  whose  minister  was  be- 
ginning to  fail  under  the  burden  of  his  work.  He  accepted 
the  offer  only  on  condition  that,  for  six  months  he  should 
be  among  them  as  a  candidate  merely,  that  they  might 
judge  whether  he  merited  the  brand  of  heresy.  For  it  was 
possible,  ne  said,  that  his  views  of  truth,  differing  some- 
what from  the  traditional  theology,  might  fall  under  their 
censure,  as  at  Little  Aston. 

He  went  home  at  last,  but  only  for  a  few  da)'S.  There 
was  a  conflict  in  his  mind  as  to  whether  he  should  yet  utter 
his  love  to  Hester,  or  wait  until  his  own  future  was  sure. 
Unfortunately  and  unwisely  he  decided  upon  keeping  si- 
lence. He  believed  that  Hester  would  feel  too  greatly  di- 
vided between  her  duties  to  her  fatlier  and  Rose,  and  to 
him.  She  had  asked  him  once,  in  a  tone  of  trouble  and 
supplication,  not  to  let  Grant  talk  any  more  about  her 
leaving  home.  It  would  be  impossible  to  do  so,  she  added, 
hurriedly,  for  many  years  to  come,  if  the  time  ever  came. 


ANOTHER   CALL.  355 

Carl's  sensitive  nature  fancied  there  was  a  dread  in  her 
mind  lest  he  should  say  an5'thing  to  disturb  her  peace ; 
and  he  resolved  to  say  nothing  till  he  could  say  all. 

Among  the  farewells  he  had  to  take,  none  were  so  pain- 
ful as  parting  with  Rose.  Her  life  was  so  sad,  so  solitary, 
and  so  peculiar,  that  it  drew  his  chivalrous  and  tender 
heart  very  closely  to  her.  The  bond  between  them  had 
something  of  the  sacred  relationship  of  a  priest  towards  a 
penitent,  whom  he  may  absolve  or  condemn.  She  saw  no 
one  else  but  him  and  Hester  ;  and  she  naturally  leaned 
more  upon  him  than  upon  a  fellow-woman.  Hester  was  the 
daughter  of  the  husband  she  had  betrayed,  and  she  dared 
not  reveal  to  her  all  the  remorseful  memories  which  oppress- 
ed her  broken  spirit. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Carl,  as  the  best 
consolation  he  could  give  her  when  he  was  about  leaving 
her  in  circumstances  so  desolate  ;  ''I  have  seen  your  child, 
your  little  Hester  ;  and  now  I  am  going  to  live  in  London, 
she  shall  come  very  often  to  my  hause." 

"  God  bless  you  ! "'  cried  Rose,  sobbing.  "  But  what  is 
to  become  of  me  when  you  are  gone  ?  I  feel  at  times  as  if 
I  must  force  my  way  to  my  husband,  and  let  him  strike  me 
dead  if  he  will.  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  doing  right  to 
be  so  near  to  him  without  him  knowing  it." 

"  You  must  be  patient."  said  Carl,  pitifully  ;  "  you  must 
not  tempt  him  to  revenge.  Do  you  not  know  how  he  near- 
ly murdered  Robert  Waldron  at  his  own  door,  and  he  would 
have  died  in  the  street  if  my  brother  Grant  had  not  found 
him  ?  Do  you  wisli  him  to  be  hurried  into  murder  ?  Be  pa- 
tient, and  leave  yourself  in  Hester's  hands.  She  knows 
her  father  better  than  we  do,  she  loves  him  more  ;  she  will 
not  lose  the  right  time,  if  it  ever  come,  of  confessing  all  to 
him.     Trust  yourself  to  Hester." 

'•  But  how  can  I  be  patient?"  she  exclaimed,  her  pale 


356  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

face  growing  paler.  "I  think  day  and  night  that  I  shall 
never  hear  his  voice  speaking  to  me  again.  Perhaps  even 
in  heaven,  where  you  tell  me  there  is  a  place  even  for  me, 
I  shall  be  nowhere  near  him  ;  and  it  may  be  that  through 
ail  eternity  I  shall  never  hear  him  say,  '  I  forgive  you.'  Ah  ! 
you  cannot  tell  what  it  is,  you  and  Hester,  who  all  your 
lives  long  have  Mved  as  if  you  looKcd  up  into  the  face  of 
God  Himself,  and  who  have  no  pardon  to  seek  but  His,  and 
He  has  little  to  forgive.  Every  night  I  lie  awake  and  think 
that  death  will  surely  come  before  I  hear  him  forgive  me." 

"These  are  only  fancies,"  said  Carl  gently  ;  "you  are 
likely  to  live  many  years.  Your  illness  is  passing  away, 
Grant  says.  But  there  is  a  nearer  hope  for  you,  perhaps. 
As  soon  as  I  can  offer  Hester  and  her  father  a  home  with 
me,  I  shall  ask  her  to  be  my  wife  ;  I  shall  ask  her  father 
to  give  her  to  me.     Do  you  think  they  will  consent  ?  " 

"  Consent  !  "  repeated  Rose,  "  she  loves  you,  and  he 
thinks  of  you  as  a  son,  she  says." 

"Then,"  continued  Carl,  his  face  flushing  with  antici- 
pated joy ;  "  as  soon  as  he  is  happy  once  more,  when  a 
portion  of  gloom  passes  away  from  his  life,  we  can  turn  his 
thoughts  to  you  ;  and  perhaps,  who  can  tell  ?  your  forgive- 
ness may  be  fuller  than  we  hope  for  now.  Why  !  when 
Hester  becomes  my  wife  the  whole  of  life  will  be  turned 
to  gladness." 

He  felt  as  if  the  whole  world  would  be  made  partakers 
of  the  joy  he  looked  forward  to.  At  the  least  all  his  world 
would  be  illuminated  and  warmed  by  it  ;  and  in  the  new 
summer  which  would  begin  for  John  Morley  it  might  not  be 
impossible  to  bring  about  a  perfect  reconciliation  between 
him  and  Rose.  Tiie  glow  of  his  hope  fell  for  a  brief  season 
upon  her  heart,  but  it  died  away,  and  left  a  more  chilly 
darkness  behind  it,  when  Carl  was  gone,  and  she  knew 
that  it  would  be  very  long  before  she  could  see  him  again. 


ANOTHER   CALL.  357 

At  the  request  of  David  Scott,  and  with  the  hearty  ap- 
probation of  Mr.  Waldron,  Carl  preached  once  more  to  his 
first  church  before  leaving  Little  Aston  for  London.  He 
knew  it  well  now,  with  all  its  foibles  and  littlenesses.  It 
was  no  longer  an  assembly  of  angels.  But  it  was  with  a 
larger  charity  that  he  bade  it  a  last  farewell.  It  had  already 
repented  of  its  unfaithfulness  and  unkindness,  and  looked 
back  regretfully  on  its  short-lived  union  with  its  eloquent 
young  pastor ;  but  the  tie  had  been  broken  by  itself,  and 
could  never  be  re-knit.  Mr.  Waldron  felt  it,  and  did  not 
hold  his  head  as  erect,  or  sing  with  so  much  energy  and 
freedom  as  usual  :  while  his  daughter  listened  for  the  last 
time  to  Carl  with  conflicting  emotions  of  exultation  and 
chagrin. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

AT  JOHN   M0RLEY"S   DOOR. 

FOR  John  Morley  there  had  been  a  brief  interval  of 
interest  in  outer  things,  and  of  distraction  from  his 
own  morbid  broodings,  during  the  last  few  weeks  of  Carl's 
residence  in  Little  Aston  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  was  gone, 
and  the  old  routine  closed  in  upon  the  house  again,  the 
faint  throb  of  quicker  vitality  died  away,  and  left  him  more 
dead  than  before.  Even  the  fresh  enthusiasm  and  hope  of 
Carl's  nature,  tinged  as  they  were  with  the  buoyancy  of  a 
spirit  which  had  not  yet  come  into  very  close  contact  with 
the  real  world,  had  added  a  deeper  shade  to  his  disgust  of 
life.  He  had  looked  back,  and  seen,  through  Carl's  eyes, 
the  fair  visions  which  had  attended  his  own  early  days  ; 
and  the  realities  which  had  met  him,  in  the  march  of  the 
years,  only  grew  more  intolerable  in  their  burden  of  shame. 
The  malady  of  John  Morley,  so  long  and  carefully  fostered, 
had  reached  a  point  where  it  was  beyond  his  own  power, 
or  that  of  any  man,  to  heal.  Grant,  who  had  cherished 
some  hope,  while  Carl  was  in  daily  intercourse  with  him, 
gave  up  the  case  in  despair.  More  closely  than  ever  John 
Morley  confined  himself  to  his  gloomy  and  unwholesome 
parlor,  more  unwholesome  for  his  soul  than  his  body,  and 
there  brooded  over  the  dim  memories  of  his  grief. 

But  they  were  not  dim  just  then.  As  if  Carl  had  sharp- 
ened in  every  respect  the  keen  sword  of  the  spirit,  John 
Morley's  brain  presented  to  him  clearer  and  more  poignant 


AT   JOHN    MOR ley's    UOOR.  3^,9 

recollections  of  the  past.  It  seemed  at  times  as  if  ht-  al- 
most saw  the  face  of  his  faithless  wife,  and  caught  the  pcho 
of  her  voice  somewhere  upon  the  very  confines  of  hi?  ear. 
There  was  a  subtle,  mysterious  feeling  of  her  pre?'ince 
close  at  hand,  haunting  him  with  an  indefinable  terror. 
The  closed  room  overhead  did  not  seem  uninhabited,  though 
he  could  hear  neither  voice  nor  step  in  it.  Once  before 
entering  his  bedroom  he  stole  cautiously  to  the  locked  door, 
and  listened  through  the  empty  key-hole,  if  there  were  any 
movement  within.  No  grave  could  be  more  silent,  and  he 
retreated  shuddering.  In  his  chamber  he  could  not  barisb 
the  impalpable  presence.  He  felt  that  he  had  but  to 
strain  his  sight  a  little,  and  listen  with  a  more  attentive 
ear,  and  he  should  succeed  in  seeing  and  hearing  thu. 
shadowy  visitant.  But  dimness  of  sight,  and  dullness  o^ 
hearing  must  be  closing  in  upon  him,  in  his  premature  oIp- 
age  ;  and  there  was  a  film,  a  mist,  a  nameless  terror,  dark- 
ening his  mind.  His  nights  were  sleepless,  and  his  day^ 
fuller  of  poisoned  thoughts.  He  was  like  sc  man  smitter. 
with  disease,  who  counts  the  moments  of  his  fleeting  liff 
by  the  sickly  throbbing  of  his  pulse. 

Hester  was  only  partly  aware  of  this  aggravation  of  her 
father's  malady.  She  had  more  to  think  of  than  in  the 
days  when  she  had  him  alone  to  study.  There  was  Rose, 
and  there  was  Annie,  who  was  more  warmly  cultivating 
her  friendship.  Carl,  too,  claimed  a  large  share  of  her 
thoughts.  Nor  was  Robert  Waldron  forgotten  ;  that  would 
have  been  impossible.  The  recollection  of  him  crossed 
her  mind  often,  and  always  with  a  pensive  tinge  of  sadness, 
which  did  not  amount  to  sorrow  or  regret  yet  which  bor- 
rowed a  shade  from  both.  Carl  was  gone  away,  without 
speaking  any  sure  words  of  love,  and  she  saw  him  no  more. 
Robert  had  paid  to  her  the  greatest  and  deepest  homage 
by  wiiich  any  man  can  testify  his  devotion  ;  and  it  is  not  in 


360  HESTER    M<)K1.K\*S    I'KOMISE. 

the  nature  of  a  woman  to  hate  or  despise  the  man  who 
truly  loves  her,  whatever  may  be  the  character  of  his  faults. 
He  was  still  at  Aston  Court.  She  had  seen  him,  and 
he  had  seen  her  twice,  as  he  was  passing  Grant's  house, 
and  looked  up  to  its  windows.  She  heard  very  much  of 
him  through  Lawson's  mother.  He  looked  pale  and  suf- 
fering; Madame  assured  her  that  he  was  desolated. 
Among  her  many  other  thoughts  Hester  gave  a  place,  a 
poor  paltry  place,  Robert  would  have  considered  it,  to  him. 
It  was  impossible  he  should  ever  rival  Carl ;  but  for  very 
pity's  sake,  and  because  with  Rose  always  in  her  mind  he 
could  not  be  far  off,  Hester  often  thought  of  Robert 
Waldron. 

To  Robert  himself,  the  departure  of  Carl  and  the  assur- 
ance of  Madame  Lawson  that  he  had  not  proposed  for 
Hester,  brought  a  new  hope.  He  knew  the  flatteries  and 
adulations,  so  difficult  to  resist,  which  would  wrap  about 
Carl  upon  his  introduction  into  the  religious  world  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  he  trusted  somewhat  to  their  seductions  to  make 
him  forgetful  of  the  grave,  quiet  girl  at  Li. tie  Aston.  If 
Carl  only  withdrew  from  the  field,  he  could  not  believe  that 
she  would  persist  in  choosing  poverty,  and  debt,  and  the 
increasing  difficulties  of  her  position,  to  the  bright  future 
he  had  to  offer.  He  possessed  the  faculty  of  burying  in 
oblivion  what  he  did  not  wish  to  remember,  and  he  had 
forgotten  the  singular  solemnity  of  Hester's  rejection  of  his 
suit.  The  fact  .that  she  had  refused  him  remained  in  his 
memory  only  as  being  possibly  the  caprice  of  a  girl,  under 
Carl's  ascendancy.  He  blamed  his  father  for  hurrying  him 
into  a  premature  avowal,  which  would  have  been  better 
timed  by  being  deferred  a  little ;  but  his  withered  hope 
bloomed  again.  There  would  be  need  of  still  more  deli- 
cate management  than  before ;  but  after  all,  in  spite  of  all, 
his  little  Hetty  should  one  day  be  mistress  of  Aston  Court 


AT   JOHN    MORLEY'S    DOOR.  361 

"  What  news  of  Little  Aston  ? "  asked  Robert  of  Grant, 
one  evening,  with  the  carelessness  of  a  man  to  whom  so 
small  a  place  could  yield  no  news  of  any  interest. 

"John  Morley  is  dangerously  ill,"  answered  Grant, 
very  gravely. 

"  111 !  good  God  !  "  cried  Robert,  "  what  will  become 
of  Hester." 

"  He  is  not  beyond  hope  yet,"  said  Grant,  "  and  I  shall 
do  my  utmost  to  save  him  ;  but  his  constitution  is  terribly 
weakened.  To  my  knowledge,  he  has  never  turned  the 
corner  of  the  street  since  I  have  been  here,  except  once  to 
see  Carl." 

"  Is  he  in  bed  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"To  be  sure,  and  the  shop  shut  up  altogether,"  he 
answered.  "  It  has  never  done  him  any  good  ;  he  is  about 
as  fit  for  business  as  you  are.  The  place  looks  more 
dismal  than  ever  ;  what  with  that  room  which  is  never 
opened,  where  the  shutters  are  falling  to  pieces, — " 

"  What  room  ?  "  inquired  Robert,  as  Grant  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  a  drawing-room  or  something,"  he  added,  "  which 
they  say  is  never  opened.  But  I  am  in  a  hurry.  I  promised 
Hester  to  sit  up  with  her  father  to-night." 

Grant  left  Robert  with  fresh  food  for  thouglit.  He 
knew  very  little  personally  of  the  man  whom  he  had  in- 
jured ;  years  ago  he  had  been  Rose's  husband,  now  he 
was  Hester's  father.  The  news  of  his  illness  affected  him 
chiefly  as  it  touched  his  own  purposes.  He  was  soon  con- 
iSdering  Hester's  position  should  her  father  die,  and  how 
it  would  affect  him.  He  flattered  himself  that  Hester's 
reluctance  to  receive  his  suit  arose  partly  from  regard  to 
her  father  ;  but  his  death  would  remove  this  stumbling- 
block  ;  nay,  might  become  a  stepping-stone  to  the  attain- 
ment of  his  end.  She  would  be  left  homeless,  penniless, 
•and  friendless  ;  and  it  was  incredible  to  suppose  that  she 
t6 


362  IIKSIKR    M()RI.i;v"s    PROMISE. 

would  ag^ain  refuse  the  lot  he  would  offer  her.  In  his  idle 
and  luxurious  worldliness,  he  could  not  comprehend  the 
possibility  of  Hester  choosing  rather  a  life  of  difficulty 
and  trial  than  his  own  lot  of  untroubled  abundance  of  all 
things. 

He  had  strolled  on  unthinkingly  until  he  reached  the 
entrance  of  the  town,  just  as  the  clock  of  the  old  church 
struck  ten.  The  streets  lay  before  him,  with  lights  twinkling 
fitfully  in  many  of  the  windows.  There  would  be  no 
danger  now  in  walking  once  again  under  the  walls  of 
Hester's  home.  He  passed  on  to  it,  with  the  impatient 
swiftness  of  one  who  has  been  long  denied  a  pleasure. 
The  gloom  of  the  evening  was  deeper  there,  for  th»  street 
was  narrow  and  the  houses  high  on  each  side.  He  crossed 
over  to  the  opposite  causeway,  and  looked  up  to  the  second 
story.  He  had  done  so  often  in  the  old  times  to  see  if  any 
light  shone  in  Rose's  pleasant  sitting-room  ;  but  the 
shutters  of  that  window  were  closed.  In  the  next  case- 
ment, however,  glimmered  a  wan  and  sickly  gleam,  the 
beacon  of  illness,  the  pale  watch-fire,  where  Hester, 
solitary  and  uncomforted,  kept  watch  over  the  inroads  of 
death.  Why  did  his  treacherous  fancy  mingle  the  images 
of  Hester  and  Rose  ?  He  had  diligently  rooted  from  his 
memory  all  unpleasant  and  disquieting  reminiscences 
Yet  now,  standing  in  the  dark,  opposite  the  house,  and' 
looking  up  to  the  windows,  he  felt  himself  the  boy  he  had 
been  eleven  years  ago.  A  boy  only.  He  caught  again  the 
oft  repeated  apology  for  the  past.  It  was  as  a  boy  he  had 
loved  and  tempted  Rose ;  it  was  as  a  man  he  loved  and 
honored  Hester. 

He  stood  in  the  quiet  street  some  minutes,  no  passer-by 
coming  to  disturb  him.  At  length  he  heard  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps,  and  felt  that  it  was  time  to  move  on. 
He   traversed  the  whole  length  of  the  street,  and   then 


AT  JOHN    MORLEY's    DOOR.  363 

retraced  his  steps  past  John  Morley's  door,  ^^■as  he  in  a 
dream  to-night  ?  Was  he  the  boy  of  three-and-twenty  ;  or 
the  man  of  thirty-four  years  of  age,  weary,  disenchanted, 
with  a  pricking  goad  in  his  conscience  which  he  could  not 
ahogether  pluck  out?  To  see  Hester,  only  for  a  moment, 
would  allay  this  fever  of  his  spirit ;  and  what  would  be 
more  natural  than  for  him  to  testify  his  concern  for  her, 
and  her  father.''  There  could  be  neither  harm  nor  danger 
in  simply  knocking  at  the  door,  and  asking  the  servant 
how  John  Morley  was.  Perhaps  Hester  herself  might 
answer  his  knock  ;  as  he  could  remember  her  doing  once 
many  years  before.  He  called  back  her  image  to  his 
mind  ;  a  grave,  sweet,  simple  child,  who  hailed  his  coming 
with  a  demure  rapture  of  delight.  If  he  had  only  foreseen 
into  what  a  womanhood  this  childhood  was  about  to 
expand  I  With  a  profound  sigh,  Robert  Waldron  set  his 
foot  upon  John  Morley's  threshold,  and  knocked  a  low 
uncertain  knock  at  his  door. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

ON  THE  OTHER  SIDE. 

WHEN  Rose  Morley  heard  of  her  husband's  danger- 
ous illness,  she  implored  Hester  to  suffer  her  to 
see  him  at  once,  lest  he  should  die  without  forgiving  her. 
But  his  malady  was  more  of  the  mind  than  the  body,  and 
Grant  forbade  any  kind  of  agitation  for  him.  John  Mor- 
ley's  brain  was  at  work  with  too  busy  and  too  perilous  an  ac- 
tivit}'.  He  was  neither  insensible  nor  delirious ;  but  from 
hour  to  hour  his  thoughts  were  flashing,  with  lightning 
speed,  over  all  the  events  of  his  past  life ;  and  his  tongue, 
so  long  reticent,  read  aloud  the  secret  records.  It  was  a 
fever,  but  not  a  fever  of  the  blood.  The  spirit,  long  kept 
in  check,  was  at  last  avenging  itself  upon  its  tyrant.  John 
Morley,  lying  almost  motionless  upon  his  bed,  with  his 
meagre  face  and  burning  eyes  turned  towards  the  listener 
at  his  side,  poured  out  restlessly  the  pent-up  emotions  of 
his  years  of  silence. 

To  speak  to  him  of  Rose,  in  this  strange  fire  and  fever 
of  his  memory,  would  have  been  madness.  The  only  per- 
sons he  admitted  near  to  him  were  Hester  and  Lawson  ; 
and  to  them  his  tongue  ran  on  fast  of  all  his  love  to  her, 
and  of  all  the  torture  of  despair  and  shame  he  had  suffer- 
ed for  her.  Her  name  was  always  upon  his  lips.  There 
was  something  of  a  solemn  humiliation  in  this  spectacle 
of  a  soul,  forced  at  last  to  make  itself  known  to  some  other 
human  soul.     Neither  Hester  nor  Lawson  answered  him, 


ox    THE    OTHER    SIDE.  365 

and  he  did  not  need  an  answer.  The  fire  within  his  was 
consuming  him  until  he  spoke  with  his  lips  ;  that  was  all. 
They  had  only  to  stand  by  and  listen. 

It  was  difificult  to  Hester  to  turn  from  her  father  to 
Rose  with  gentleness.  She  began  to  question  whether  the 
sin  she  had  committed  did  not  shut  her  out  from  all  claim 
to  her  husband's  pardon.  When  Rose  demanded  an  en- 
trance to  his  room,  with  an  importunity  almost  angr}%  she 
replied  by  telling  her  all  that  her  father  had  said.  Until 
that  moment  Rose  had  not  felt  the  fulness  of  the  wrong 
she  had  inflicted  upon  a  nature  like  John  Morley's.  She 
could  scarcely  hope  any  more  ;  but  she  would  minister  to 
him  afar  off,  and  Hester,  sorry  for  her  in  her  heart,  gave 
her  permission  to  help  in  the  additional  labor  of  the 
house. 

The  servant  was  gone  to  bed,  and  Rose  was  sitting  up 
by  the  kitchen  fire,  waiting  to  let  in  Grant,  when  Robert 
Waldron's  low  knock  reached  her  ear.  She  was  scarcely 
afraid  of  being  recognized  now  ;  especially  in  the  dim  light 
kept  burning  in  the  entrance.  Yet  she  crept  slowly  and 
tremblingly  to  the  door,  and  paused  with  her  fingers  upon 
the  handle  before  turning  it.  Who  could  it  be  on  the  other 
side?  And  what  errand  brought  them  there?  It  was  not 
Grant,  for  he  v.'as  to  have  tapped  softly  on  the  window,  lest 
the  patient  should  have  fallen  asleep.  Her  heart  throb- 
bed, and  her  lips  felt  dry.  But  she  fancied  the  person  out- 
side was  about  to  give  a  second  knock,  and  she  threw  the 
door  open  quickly  and  fully. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Rose  Morley  and  Robert  Wal- 
dron  stood  face  to  face  in  silence,  feeling  as  if  they  had 
met  in  another  world.  Yet  it  was  the  old  place,  the  door 
she  had  opened  to  him  so  often,  the  threshold  he  had  cross- 
ed with  guilty  icet.  There  was  the  difference  only  'twixt 
now  and  then  ;  but   the   wofulness  of  the  change  was  in 


366  HESTKR    MORl.EV'S    PKOMISIi. 

Rose.  He  stood  there,  still  handsome,  almost  young, 
with  the  air  and  mien  of  a  man  with  whom  all  the  world 
was  pleased  ;  and  she  confronted  him,  motionless,  nearly 
lifeless,  a  faded,  withered  woman,  bowed  down  with  the 
world's  censure.  He  closed  his  eyelids  as  if  to  shut  out  a 
vision  so  repugnant  to  him  ;  but  Rose,  with  eyes  that  would 
not  blanch,  gazed  steadfastly  and  mournfully  into  his 
face. 

'•  Hush  ! "  she  whispered,  in  a  guilty  tone,  and  with  a 
gesture  of  silence,  such  as  she  might  have  used  in  the  for- 
mer days,  "he  is  sleeping  perhaps.  Follow  me  softly. 
There  is  nobody  to  see  you." 

He  would  have  given  vvorlds  to  escape  from  this  inter- 
view, yet  he  had  no  power  to  resist.  He  followed  her  re- 
luctantly, watching  her  now  with  keen  eyes,  which  would 
not  allow  him  to  pass  over  any  change  in  her.  It  was  the 
same  Rose,  but  with  no  more  bloom  or  sweetness.  The 
poor  emaciated  hand  was  trembling,  the  face  was  marked 
and  sallow,  the  slender  and  graceful  figure  meagre  and  bent. 
Her  eyes  only  were  the  eyes  of  Rose,  though  their  deep 
blue  was  troubled  with  shame.  She  was  leading  him 
through  the  house,  and  across  the  court,  when  the  flame 
of  the  candle  she  carried  flickered  in  the  wind  ;  he  could 
see  how  transparent  her  hand  was  as  she  curved  it  round  the 
flame.  Where  could  she  be  taking  him?  He  climbed  a 
steep  staircase  after  her,  and  the  light  fell  upon  the  swarthy 
leaves  of  ivy  about  the  door ;  and  then  he  remembered  the 
melancholy  little  room  opposite  Hester's  window,  which 
had  once  oppressed  and  fascinated  his  attention.  Had 
Rose  been  in  the  house  at  the  time  when  John  Morley  near- 
ly murdered  him  ?  Was  it  possible  that  she  had  even  then 
been  concealed  so  near  to  him,  in  a  refuge  of  which  he 
could  never  have  dreamed  ? 

This  refuge  was  a  mere,  bare,  comtbrtless  cell  in   his 


ON    THE    OTHER    SIDE.  367 

eyes.  The  poor  pieces  of  furniture,  provided  by  Hester 
with  so  much  difficulty,  looked  mean  and  scanty.  The  two 
chairs,  the  table,  the  pallet-bed,  a  book  or  two  upon  the 
narrow  window-sill,  a  basket  of  work, — this  was  all  the 
room  contained.  The  walls  were  dark  with  smoke,  and 
the  low  roof  was  not  ceiled.  There  was  not  a  loft  over 
the  stables  at  Aston  Court  which  was  not  better  fitted  for 
a  human  dwelling  than  this.  Yet  this  was  the  poor  shelter 
to  which  Rose  Morley  had  been  brought — by  him. 

He  had  not  spoken  yet;  he  could  not  speak.  Could 
this  monstrous  dream  be  by  any  chance  a  reality  ?  His 
conscience  also  was  so  diligently  at  work  among  the  re- 
cords of  the  past,  turning  back  to  old  leaves  which  had  long 
since  been  pressed  down,  that  he  was  unconscious  of  his 
own  dumbness  before  this  awful  apparition  of  his  first  love. 
If  she  had  kept  silence,  he  would  have  sat  mute  for  hours, 
gazing  at  her  in  blank  bewilderment. 

"  You  have  found  me  out,''  she  murmured  at  last,  in  a 
voice  of  fear,  "  and  there  is  no  help  for  me  but  to  throw 
myself  upon  your  mercy.  Do  not  drive  me  from  here  ;  do 
not  betray  me.  Nobody  knows  I  am  here,  except  Hester 
and  Carl  Bramwell.  If  you  ever  had  any  love  for  me,  leave 
me  here  in  peace." 

"  Here  I  "  he  repeated,  casting  round  the  place  a  glance 
of  disgust. 

"Yes,  here,"  she  added,  vehemently.  "  Why,  it  is  a 
hundred  times  better  than  the  place  to  which  I  might  have 
fallen  through  you.  Do  you  know  who  has  saved  me  and 
gives  me  now  this  refuge  ?  It  is  Hester.  But  for  the  re- 
membrance of  her,  the  good  little  child  I  had  forsaken,  I 
might  have  fallen  lower  than  I  did.  I  owe  all  to  Hester, 
my  little  Hetty." 

Her  voice,  broken  and  trembling,  fell  into  sobs,  until 
she  could   speak   no  more.     The  name  of  Hester  brought 


368  HESTER    MOKI.EV'S   PROMISE. 

Robert  back  to  the  present,  and  bis  deep  absorbing  love 
for  her,  so  widely  diflferent  to  his  fitful  and  poisoned  passion 
for  Rose.  What  influence  had  her  presence  there  upon 
Hester  with  regard  to  him  ? 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ? "  he  asked,  in  lower- 
ed tones,  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard.  "  I  have  sought 
for  you  every  where.  I  could  endure  to  think  of  yovi  in 
poverty,  without  a  home,  and  without  friends.  \\"hy  did 
you  never  let  me  know  where  you  were  ?  It  was  cruel  to 
me." 

Still  thinking  of  himself,  he  asked  this  last  question  in 
a  tone  of  so  much  tenderness,  that  Rose  trembled  and 
flushed  a  little.  A  last  gleam  of  the  good-tempered  vanity 
of  girlish  days  flashed  across  her  saddened  heart. 

"Why  have  you  never  married,  Robert?"  she  asked. 
"  I  could  have  been  happier  and  more  contented  if  you  had 
been  married.  Have  you  never  loved  any  one — "  but  me  ? 
she  would  have  added,  but  her  lips  only  moved,  no  sound 
came  through  them. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  briefly  ;  " I  have  loved." 

"  And  would  she  not  marry  you  ?  "  asked  Rose,  as 
soon  as  the  spark  of  jealousy  which  his  words  had  kindled 
had  died  away.  "  Is  it  possible  that  any  woman  could  say 
No  to  you  ? " 

"I  love  Hester,"  he  said  again,  with  the  short,  sharp 
utterance  of  one  in  great  anguish  of  mind. 

"  Hester !  "  she  echoed,  "  Hester!  " 

She  could  say  no  more ;  but  she  sat  silent  for  a  few 
minutes,  thinking  of  what  might  have  been  had  she  but 
resisted  temptation  eleven  years  before.  She  saw  herself 
John  Morley's  honored  and  happy  wife,  the  wife  of  a  pros- 
perous and  happy  man,  the  mother  of  Hester,  about  to 
become  the  mistress  of  Aston  Court.  A  phantasiViagoria 
of  brilliant  scenes,  in  which  she  played  a  prominent  part, 


ON   THE    OTHER    SIDE.  369 

passed  before  her.  The  life  that  would  have  been  but  for 
her  sin,  was  a  hundred-fold  better  suited  to  her  than  the 
one  she  had  chosen  for  herself 

"  Oh,  Robert ! "  she  cried.     "  What  can  be  done  ? " 

"Nothing!"  he  said,  in  an  accent  of  bitterness  and 
despair;  "nothing!  I  know  now  that  Hester  could  no 
more  love  me  than  an  angel  could  come  down  from  heaven 
to  me.     How  could  she,  having  you  before  her  eyes?" 

He  had  almost  told  her  that  his  chief  hope  had  been 
to  discover  that  she  was  dead,  but  he  stopped  himself  in 
time.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  hate  her,  as  some  men 
hate  the  woman  they  have  fancied  they  loved.  He  was 
sorry  for  her,  but  he  was  still  more  sorry  for  himself 

"  Robert,"  said  Rose,  "  we  neither  of  us  knew  what  we 
were  doing,  when  we  sinned  against  a  man  like  John 
Morley.  It  has  been  well-nigh  the  death  of  his  soul,  as 
well  as  mine.  But  I  think  now,  I  am  a  better  woman  than 
I  was  then.  Look  away  from  me,  look  away  from  me.  I 
wish  to  tell  you  what  1  think  God  has  done  for  me,  and  I 
cannot  bear  your  eyes  to  look  into  mine  while  I  speak  of 
Him." 

She  was  silent  again  for  a  moment  or  two,  sitting 
before  him,  with  bended  head  and  closed  eyelids,  as  if 
searching  into  her  own  soul  with  a  keen  and  unsparing 
scrutiny.  His  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her  in  spite  of  her 
appeal.  A  feeble  smile  played  once  more  about  her  pale 
lips,  and  her  eyebrows  expanded  as  if  some  pleasant 
thought  had  come  to  her  amid  all  the  pitiless  shame  and 
trouble  of  her  interview  with  him.  She  was  once  more 
something  like. the  Rose  he  had  known, 

"  I  believe,"  she  said,  softly  and  solemnly,  "  that  He 

has  forgiven  my  sin,  for  the  sake  of  His  Son.     I  believe 

that  when  the  woman,  who  was  a  sinnei%  stood  at  the  feet 

of  Jesus,  weeping  an.Cl  washing  His  feet  with  her  tears,  He 

16=^ 


370  HESTER    MORLEV  S    PRO.MISK. 

saw  nie  tliere  ;  and  it  was  of  me,  as  well  as  of  her,  He 
said,  '  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven.'  I  believe 
that." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  with  a  serene  and  hopeful 
light  in  their  blue  depths.  Yet  even  as  he  dared  to  look 
into  them  for  a  moment,  the  tears  came  across  them  and 
dimmed  them. 

"  But  my  husband,"  she  said,  "  does  not  forgive  me. 
He  has  treasured  up  all  our  sins,  and  now  he  is  counting 
them  over  one  by  one,  while  he  is  perhaps  dying.  Do 
you  know  that  he  recollects  each  day  as  if  it  were  only  a 
week  ago,  and  he  keeps  on  saying,  '  On  such  a  morning 
he  came  here,  and  I  heard  Rose  singing  to  him  in  the 
drawing-room  ;'  or  'Such  a  night  I  found  him  here  when 
I  came  home  from  chapel.'  Oh,  it  is  horrible  !  He  must 
hate  us  with  a  terrible  hatred.  If  he  should  be  lost,  it  is 
you  and  I  who  have  brought  his  soul  to  ruin." 

"  No,  no.     He  is  a  good  man,"  muttered  Robert. 

"He  was  a  good  man,"  she  continued  m.ournfully. 
"  He  was  so  good  himself  that  he  thought  no  evil  of  you 
or  me,  though  he  took  so  much  notice  of  all  we  did.  But 
all  these  years  our  crime  has  come  between  him  and  God. 
Do  you  suppose  he  would  not  have  rejoiced  in  your  death 
or  mine?  They  say  he  was  almost  guilty  of  murder.  And 
now  he  is  going  to  die  !  " 

"■  He  is  not  going  to  die,  my  poor  Rose,"  said  Robert. 

"I  wish  I  could  die  for  him!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
should  not  be  sorry  to  die.  It  would  be  well  for  me  to  be 
out  of  the  world  altogether." 

There  was  a  passion  of  mournful  pathos  in  her  words, 
and  Robert  Waldron  could  have  cast  himself  at  her  feet, 
and  hiding  his  face  in  her  lap,  have  given  way  to  an  agony 
of  grief  and  repentance.  It  was  true  that  he  had  not 
known  till  now  what  he  had  done.     Till  this  moment  he 


ON   THE   OTHER    SIDE.  3~i 

had  not  seen  the  blackness  of  his  transgression.  At  tiinea 
v\'hen  he  had  been  himself  low-spirited,  or  when  the  even 
tenor  of  his  comfort  and  well-being  had  been  infringed,  he 
had  experienced  what  he  had  been  pleased  to  call  repent- 
ance. But  it  was  now,  looking  at  Rose  and  thinking  of 
John  Morley  counting  over  his  wrongs  perhaps  in  the  very 
hour  of  death,  that  his  real  remorse  began.  There  stole  a 
subtle  and  fine  sense  of  his  speechless  anguish  over  Rose. 

"  I  thought  never  to  let  you  know,"  she  said,  "but  now 
I  see  you  again — it  must  be  for  the  last  time — I  cannot 
help  telling  you.     I  have  a  child."' 

"  A  child  I  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  believing  she  was  giving  him  the  only 
consolation  in  her  power.  "  You  shall  see  her  some  day. 
I  thought  you  should  never,  never  know  ;  but  perhaps  it 
would  be  wrong  to  keep  her  all  to  myself  She  thinks  her 
father  is  dead  and  in  heaven ;  you  must  never  tell  her  dif- 
ferent. She  is  about  as  old  as  Hester  was  when  I  was  mar- 
ried.    You  remember  little  Hetty  ':  " 

Remember  her !  He  had  done  nothing  else  these 
months  past.  There  was  no  consolation  or  relief  in  the 
thought  of  their  child  to  him  as  there  was  to  Rose  ;  it  only 
deepened  the  heavy  cloud  which  hung  over  him. 

"  I  have  called  her  Hester,"  said  Rose,  after  a  pause, 
for  he  had  not  answered  her  last  question.  Robert  bowed 
his  face  upon  his  hands  and  groaned.  This  then  was  the 
Hester  who  was  to  belong  to  him. — his  own  child,  who  was 
never-  to  know  him  as  her  father.  But  for  Hester  Morley, 
grave  and  gentle  and  sweet,  with  all  the  simple  grace  which 
satisfied  his  taste,  the  innocent  and  saintly  soul  which  would 
liave  helped  him  to  save  his  own  unstable  soul, — this  Hes- 
ter was  lost  to  him  forever  by  an  irrevocable  forfeit. 

"  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear,"  he  cried, 
bitterly. 


3/2  IlKSTl'R    .M()Kl.i:v"s    I'ROMISE. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  your  punishment  is  not  so  great  as 
mine.  Think  of  it.  You  are  rich  and  honored,  and  no 
one  casts  a  stone  at  you  ;  while  I  am  a  beggar  at  my  hus- 
band's door,  and  he  does  not  know  that  1  am  fed  by  his 
hand.  If  he  knew,  he  would  fling  me  as  a  worthless  thing 
into  the  street,  where  every  one  who  passed  by  would  r^ 
vile  me.  Yet  I  think  our  sin  was  equal.  But  I  don't  know. 
No  ;  it  was  more  evil  in  me  than  in  you.  Let  my  punish- 
ment remain.     I  deserve  it  all." 

Robert  Waldron  scarcely  heard  her.  The  sound  of  her 
words  passed  through  his  brain  without  making  any  im- 
pression there.  This  woman  beside  him,  who  had  laid 
her  thin  chilly  fingers  upon  his  hand,  had  but  a  small  share 
in  his  thoughts.  He  could  no  longer  endure  her  presence. 
He  must  be  alone  to  taste,  drop  by  drop,  the  dregs  of  the 
bitter  cup  which  he  had  first  tasted  hastily  in  his  youth. 
He  rose  abruptly  and  said  that  he  must  leave  her. 

"It  is  the  last  time  you  will  ever  see  me,"  said  Rose, 
calmly. 

"  No,"  bf  answered ;  "  we  must  see  one  another 
again." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  say,"  she  added.  "  There 
is  peril  in  this  house  for  you  and  for  me.  It  will  never 
happen  again  that  we  can  meet  as  we  have  done  now." 

She  had  opened  the  door,  and  was  holding  the  light 
while  he  prepared  to  descend  the  crazy  staircase,  so  shad- 
ing it  with  her  hand  that  the  rays  fell  upon  him  and  the 
steps  he  had  to  tread  upon,  while  her  own  face  was  in 
shadow.  She  glanced  round  the  sombre  court  for  an  in- 
stant. A  light  shone  in  Hester's  window  opposite,  and  the 
face  of  Lawson  pressed  eagerly  against  the  panes,  watching 
Robert  making  his  slow  and  cautious  descent.  But  be  had 
not  seen  her  yet.  With  a  smothered  cry  of  dismay  she  let 
the  candle  fall  from  her  trembling  hold,  and  hiurrving  on 


ox    THE    OTHER    SHJE.  ^J } 

down  the  familiar  staircase,  she  put  her  hand  upon  Rob- 
ert's arm,  and  led  him  in  darkness  and  silence  through  the 
house  and  into  the  street  beyond.  "We  have  been  seen," 
she  whispered,  at  the  door.  "  I  do  not  know  what  may 
come  of  it.  Only  1  would  rather  die  here  in  my  husband's 
house,  than  be  cast  out  once  more  into  the  world." 

He  was  about  to  answer  her,  to  utter  some  words  more 
pitiful  and  gentle  than  any  that  had  fallen  from  his  lips 
during  their  interview  ;  but  Rose  drew  back  and  closed 
the  door  once  more  between  them.  He  did  not  suppose 
there  would  be  all  the  difficulty  and  danger  she  imagined 
in  seeing  her  again  ;  but  dismissing  her  easily  from  his 
thoughts,  he  went  home,  mindful  only  of  Hester  and  the 
child  that  bore  her  name,  with  a  heart  so  heavy  that  it 
seemed  impossible  for  the  weight  to  be  lifted  from  it  by 
any  event  of  the  future. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

A   FRUITLESS    EFFORT. 

JOHN  MORLEY'S  illness  though  dangerous  was  not 
of  long  duration,  and  he  appeared  to  recover  from  it 
perfectly.  But  the  deep  fountains  of  his  trouble  had  been 
stirred  too  greatly  to  subside  quickly  into  their  former 
monotony  and  stillness.  He  grew  restless  and  unquiet; 
the  disquietude  of  a  man  who  is  looking  for  some  event  to 
change  completely,  either  for  good  or  ill,  the  current  of  his 
life.  In  vain  Hester  sought  to  soothe  this  strange  mood. 
Grant  bade  her  desist  from  all  effort  to  do  so.  It  was,  he 
said,  a  crisis  in  his  mind's  history,  from  which  he  might 
come  out  a  new  man,  with  a  hale  and  happy  old  age  lying 
before  him.  There  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  but  stand 
aside,  and  look  on  at  the  strange  conflict. 

"  Hester,"  said  John  Morley,  one  evening  just  before 
sunset,   "bring  me  my  hat.     I  am  going  out  for  a  walk." 

Hester  could  scarcely  conceal  her  surprise,  but  she 
brought  him  his  hat  without  venturing  a  word  of  comment. 
He  stepped  across  his  threshold,  with  a  dizzy  sense  of 
bewilderment,  and  turned  his  steps  mechanically  towards 
the  chapel,  feeling  his  way  before  him  with  his  stick  as  if 
he  were  blind.  The  wind  played  in  his  long  white  hair, 
and  breathed  coolly  upon  his  fevered  face,  for  there  was 
still  a  low  subtle  fever  burning  in  his  veins.  At  the  chapel 
porch,  where  the  doors  were  closed,  he  arrested  him.self, 
;ind  stood  upon  the  lowest  step,  looking  about  him  with  an 


A   FRUITLESS    EFFORT.  375 

air  of  confusion  and  questioning.  What  had  he  come  here 
for.''     What  was  he  doing?     Where  was  he  going? 

He  remained  just  within  the  portico  for  some  minutes. 
He  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  bound  he  had  set  for  him- 
self and  kept  to  during  many  years.  Beyond  this  limit, 
he  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  trees,  with  their  green 
brandies  waving  and  beckoning  to  him  with  gestures  of 
welcome.  He  saw  the  level  sunbeams  burnishing  richly 
the  topmost  leaves,  and  the  evening  song  of  the  birds 
reached  his  ear.  He  reared  his  bended  figure,  and  lifted 
up  his  snow-white  head.  Had  he  been  blind  and  deaf  to 
these  things,  and  was  he  now  going  to  hear  and  see  once 
more  ?  Was  the  invisible  Christ  touching  with  a  divine 
finger  his  ears,  his  eyes,  and  saying,  "  Be  open  ? ''  Was 
the  hand  of  Christ  about  to  loose  his  burden,  and  take  it 
away  from  him  forever  ? 

He  felt  the  wooing  of  the  gilded  branches  and  the 
singing  of  the  birds  through  every  nerve  ;  but  he  could 
not  break  through  the  unsees  barrier  stret«hing  between 
him  and  them,  which  he  Inid  himself  erected  in  his  despair. 
Until  this  hour  he  had  not  wished  to  pass  beyond  it. 
There  was  the  lost  paradise,  but  he  had  never  turned 
longing  eyes  upon  the  cherubim  and  the  flaming  sword 
which  kept  the  gates.  He  did  so  now;  he  desired  ardently 
to  cross  the  boundary  :  but  whenever  he  thought  of  quitting 
the  familiar  portico,  his  feeble  limbs  trembled,  and  his 
sight  grew  dim.  He  wished  he  had  brought  Hester  with 
him,  that  he  might  have  leaned  upon  her  arm,  and  gathered 
courage  from  the  tender  serenity  of  her  face.  The  passers- 
by  stared  curiously  at  him  ;  but  they  were  ie.\\\  and  did  not 
long  interrupt  his  thoughts  Yet  he  grew  ashamed  of 
being  seen  there  ;  and  when  some  children  turned  riotously 
out  of  the  court  opposite,  he  resolved  to  retrace  his  steps 
homeward. 


376  HESTER    MORI.EY's   PROMISE. 

but  he  went  back  to  his  old  arm-chair  and  set  a  book  open 
before  him  and  ran  his  paper-knife  along  the  lines,  as  if, 
like  a  child,  it  was  needful  to  keep  the  place  where  he  was 
reading  by  pointing  to  it.  The  depths  had  closed  over 
him  again,  after  parting  and  giving  him  a  brief  glance  of 
something  brighter  rising  above  them.  He  was  laid  once 
more  in  the  lowest  pit,  in  darkness,  in  the  deeps. 

What  his  eyes  read  he  did  not  know,  though  the  lamp 
lighted  up  the  page  clearly.  Hester  went  in  and  out, 
uttering  no  word  to  disturb  him  ;  but  at  last  he  felt  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  raised  his  dim  despairing 
face  to  hers.  Her  eyelids  were  red  with  many  tears,  and 
her  lips  trembled  as  she  spoke  very  slowly  and  distinctly, 
as  though  what  she  was  about  to  say  would  astonish  and 
perplex  him. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  you  could  do  with- 
out me  for  a  day  or  two  ?     I  must  go  to  London." 

"  To  London !  "  he  repeated,  yet  with  no  more  than  a 
vague,  listless  surprise,  amounting  almost  to  indifference, 
in  his  manner. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  why  now,  but 
you  shall  know  some  day.  Carl  has  written  for  me  to  go 
there  quickly.     I  must  go  to-morrow  morning." 

Her  abrupt  sentences  were  spoken  with  difficulty  and 
deliberation,  but  he  scarcely  noticed  her  agitation.  He  al- 
ways left  Hester  to  her  own  judgment,  and  he  did  not  think 
of  demanding  any  explanation  from  her.  The  authority  of 
a  father  over  a  daughter  had  never  been  assumed  by  him, 
and  he  had  no  energy  to  assume  it  now. 

"I  shall  see  Carl  there,  perhaps."  she  said,  as  if  to  re- 
assure herself  and  him  ;  "  but  I  shall  come  home  on  Mon- 
day. 1  must  be  home  again  on  Monday.  To  morroM'  is 
Saturday,  you  know,  so  there  will  be  only  Sunday  between. 


A    FRUITLESS    EF>'C)HT.  377 

He  said  never  a  word  to  Hester  when  he  re-entered ; 
I  have  given  Jane  all  the  directions  she  needs,  and  Law- 
son's  mother  will  come  down  to  stay  with  her.  You  will 
not  see  either  of  them.  It  will  be  exactly  the  same  as  if 
I  was  here,  only  I  shall  be  away."' 

She  spoke  however,  in  a  tone  of  much  trouble  and  anx- 
iety, and  her  eyes  wore  a  look  of  uncertainty. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  some  one  who  is  ill,"  she  continued, 
and  John  INIorley  shrank  painfully  from  her.  ''  You  are 
willing  for  me  to  go  ?  You  can  trust  me  to  do  what  is 
right  ?     You  will  sa}/,  '  God  bless  you,  and  go  with  you  ' .?  " 

"  Ah  ! "  he  answered,  putting  his  arm  round  her  neck, 
and  drawing  down  her  face  to  his,  "  I  could  trust  you  with 
my  own  soul,  Hester.  Do  what  seems  good  in  your  sight, 
and  God  bless  you  and  be  with  you  always,  my  daughter." 

"  Father,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  I  wish  I  dare  tell  you  all 
now.     Is  there  anything  1  must  not  speak  of  yet  ?  " 

He  fell  back  from  her  again,  holding  up  his  hand,  with 
a  gesture  of  terror.  He  knew  well  how  he  bad  poured  out 
his  heart  before  her  during  his  illness,  but  he  had  drawn 
into  himself  once  more  ;  and  he  could  not  bear  to  listen  to 
any  reference  to  the  past  from  her  lips. 

"Spare  me,"  he  entreated,  "at  least  to-day.  When 
you  com.e  back, — when  you  have  been  to  London  and  seen 
her,  perhaps  then — if  she  is  dead — you  may  tell  me  all." 

Again  Hester  hesitated.  She  longed  to  disburden  her 
mind  of  the  secret  which  had  weighed  heavier  since  Carl 
left,  but  she  dared  not.  She  saw  that  her  father  believed 
her  journey  to  London  v/as  to  see  Rose,  and  to  see  her  as 
one  about  to  die ;  and  yet  there  was  no  softening  of  his 
voice  or  face  as  he  spoke  of  her.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  confess  the  whole  to  him  at  the  very  moment  when  she 
was  about  to  be  absent  from  home.     She  must  wait  till  the 


378  IIESTF.K    MOKLKV'S    I'ROMISK. 

right  time  came  for  her  to  give  him  the  explanation  sne 
had  promised.  Her  absence  would  be  but  a  short  one  ;  it 
could  be  but  short,  for  there  was  urgent  need  for  her 
constant  presence  at  home. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

ALONE    IX    LONDON. 

THE  cause  of  Hester's  hurried  journey  to  London, 
was  a  letter  which  she  had  received  from  Carl, 
telling  her  of  the  existence  of  Rose's  child,  who  had  lately 
broken  a  blood-vessel,  and  was  lying  in  a  dangerous  con- 
dition in  her  dreary  school-home.  True  to  the  large  pity 
and  tenderness  of  her  nature,  Hester  at  once  resolved  to 
go  up  to  London  without  inflicting  this  additional  pang 
upon  Rose,  and  see  for  herself  what  could  be  done  for 
the  forlorn  little  creature.  The  train  by  which  she  travel- 
led left  Little  Aston  at  midday,  but  did  not  reach  London 
until  the  evening.  She  had  provided  herself  with  the 
address  of  a  boarding-house  kept  by  a  former  inhabitant 
of  Little  Aston,  and  had  decided  to  go  to  it  at  once  foi 
the  night.  She  had  Carl's  address  also,  but  she  could  not 
go  to  him  though  her  heart  sank  a  little  when  she  found 
herself  alone  at  the  entrance  of  the  busy  terminus,  with  a 
maze  of  streets  stretching  before  her.  It  was  Saturday 
evening,  and  her  unexpected  appearance  at  that  hour 
would  embarrass  him  and  disturb  his  thoughts,  set  upon 
the  subjects  of  to-morrow's  sermons.  To  sav-e  Carl  the 
mere  chance  of  feeling  her  presence  a  distraction,  she  was 
willing  to  encounter  any  difficulties  herself.  Besides,  she 
was  in  the  same  place  with  him  ;  and  she  had  no  idea  of 
the  extent  of  the  overgrown  .city.  He  might  be  dwelling 
in  any  one  of  tlicse  houses  which  she  was  passing,  and  it 


380  iii;sri;i;  morlkv's  I'Kumi.si;. 

might  be  that  his  eye  would  fall  upon  her,  if  he  chanced 
to  look  out  through  his  study-window. 

This  thought  caused  Hester  to  slacken  her  quick  foot- 
steps, and  to  tread  the  crowded  pavements  with  more 
leisure, — the  leisure  of  a  half-born  hope.  From  time  to 
time  she  inquired  the  way,  and  found  herself  more  and 
more  entangled  in  the  busy  streets.  To  call  a  cab  would 
have  been  simply  impossible  to  the'  country  girl.  But  as 
long  as  the  light  lasted  her  pleasant  thought  remained. 
Twilight  would  draw  Carl  to  his  window  to  catch  the  last 
rays  of  day.  Carl  loved  the  dusk.  But  then  she  looked 
round  to  see  what  twilight  and  dusk  were  in  the  streets  of 
London.  The  lamps  were  already  lit,  but  there  was  a 
thick  darkness  gathering  in  the  big  streets,  where  their 
shadows  flitted  to  and  fro,  which  gave  her  a  vague,  op- 
pressive perception  of  the  vastness  of  the  place,  of  the 
myriads  of  human  souls  closely  surrounding  her,  of  the 
great  heart  of  anguish  throbbing  in  the  bosom  of  the  city. 
Hester  felt  her  own  heart  heaving  with  a  troubled  and 
mysterious  sympathy.  The  tears  smarted  under  her  eye- 
lids ;  and  now  that  Carl's  eye  could  not  recognize  her  in 
the  growing  darkness,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face  and 
quickened  her  wearied  footsteps. 

She  reached  her  destination  safely,  but  worn-out  and 
foot-sore.  It  was  a  dingy  house  in  one  of  those  old  inns 
which  have  now  disappeared  from  Holborn.  She  entered 
under  a  deep  archway,  shut  in  at  night  by  large  doors  and 
kept  by  a  watchman.  Solemn  silence  reigned  inside,  and 
the  sky  lay  low  and  flat  across  the  roofs  of  the  buildings, 
which  rose  to  four  and  five  stories.  The  watchman 
pointed  out  the  house  she  wanted,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
Hester  was  received  and  welcomed  with  something  more 
than  the  usual  hospitality  of  a  lodging-house  landlady. 
A  guest  from  Little   Aston,  as  she  announced   herself,  in 


ALONE    IN    LONDON.  38I 

trembling  accents,  was  always  doubly  acceptable ;  and 
very  soon  she  felt  more  at  home  than  she  could  have 
believed  possible. 

The  school  where  Carl  had  told  her  Rose's  little  girl 
lived  was  in  a  street  leading  off  from  Oxford  Street ;  and 
Carl's  chapel  lay  beyond,  near  Hyde  Park.  Hester  lay 
awake  almost  all  night  thinking  over  her  plans,  and  listen- 
ing to  the  solemn  boom  and  hum  of  the  great  clock  of  St. 
Paul's  sounding  through  the  stillness,  which  seemed  to  her 
at  last  to  have  fallen  over  the  turmoil  of  the  city.  She  set 
out  again  early  in  the  morning,  witli  minute  directions  from 
her  landlady.  Her  rigorous  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  the 
Sabbath,  which  was  kept  with  puritanic  preciseness  by  the 
church  at  Little  Aston,  prohibited  her  entering  any  convey- 
ance which  would  have  carried  her  part  of  the  distance. 
It  was,  too,  an  early  hour  of  Sunday  morning,  one  of  the 
quietest  hours  that  ever  falls  ujDon  those  weary  streets  ;  and 
Hester  felt  a  kind  of  enjoyment  in  her  novel  position — 
alone  in  London,  and  yet  near  to  Carl. 

She  reached,  after  a  long  walk,  the  street  and  the  house 
she  sought.  It  was  a  dull,  dirty  dwelling,  with  the  words, 
"  Ladies  Seminary,"  upon  the  wire  blinds  of  the  windows 
in  the  second  floor.  It  looked  a  melancholy  place  to 
inclose  a  child's  life  ;  yet  it  was  not  more  melancholy  than 
the  home  where  she  had  grown  up.  Her  memory  ran 
rapidly  over  the  past,  and  her  heart  melted  with  tenderness 
towards  the  child,  who  had  known  the  same  loneliness  and 
the  same  desertion  from  whicli  she  had  suffered,  with  the 
dumb  sufferings  of  childhood.  She  saw  a  servant  moving 
about  in  the  underground  kitchen,  and  Hester  bent  down 
to  the  half  open  window,  and  called  to  her  softly.  The 
girl  looked  out  with  the  weary  air  of  a  person  who  had 
been  sitting  up  all  night,  and  came  to  the  area  steps. 


38;2  HESTER  mokley's  promise. 

"  You  have  a  child  here,"  she  said,  "  who  is  very  ill. 
Can  you  let  me  see  her?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  caution  of  a 
town  servant.     "  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"From  the  country,"  answered  Hester;  "a  gentleman 
who  comes  to  see  her  often,  sent  for  me.  His  name  is 
Bramwell." 

"All  right!"  said  the  girl;  "he  promised  to  send  a 
nurse,  or  somebody." 

She  eyed  Hester  scrutinizingly,  nodded  her  approba- 
tion, and  then  ascending  to  the  street  door,  admitted  her 
into  a  narrow  passage. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  whispered  Hester. 

"  Oh,  she'll  die  !  "  answered  the  girl.  "  If  she  don't 
die,  I  dont  know  anything  about  dying  ;  and  I've  seen 
three  of  my  own  sisters  go  out  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle. 
And  such  a  dear  little  thing  as  she  is,  so  loving  and  pa- 
tient !  I've  sat  up  with  her  all  night,  and  there's  nobody  be- 
longing to  her  to  be  with  her  at  the  last.  I  dont  know 
whatever  the  world  is  made  of,  or  what  it  was  made  for,  or 
where  we  are  all  going  to." 

"  Dying  !  "  exclaimed  Hester. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  vehemently  ;  "and  nobody  takes  any 
notice,  and  nobody  believes  me.  They  can't  bear  the 
trouble  and  bother  of  her  dying,  and  they  are  afraid  of  it 
injuring  the  school  ;  so  they  just  shut  their  eyes  to  it. 
They'll  be  pretty  well  taken  to  when  she  does  die." 

"  1  should  like  to  go  to  her  at  once,"  said  Hester,  with 
a  sob. 

"  You  can  come,  and  you'll  be  all  by  yourselves,  I  prom- 
ise you,  this  morning,"  she  replied  ;  "the  young  ladies  nor 
my  mistress  don't  get  up  on  a  Sunday  till  it  :s  near  time  to  go 
to  church.  Mr.  Bramwell  said  he'd  send  you ;  and  I'm 
glad  you've  come,  if  nobody  else  is." 


AI,ONE    IN    LONDON.  383 

She  led  the  way  up  two  dark  flights  of  stairs,  and  into 
a  small  room  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  almost  fill- 
ed up  by  a  large  canopy  four-post  bedstead,  with  heavy 
moreen  hangings  ;  lying  upon  which  was  the  small  spare 
form  of  a  child,  with  its  meagre  face  and  bright  eyes  turned 
anxiously  towards  the  door.  The  forlornness  of  this  little 
creature,  dying  alone  and  unloved,  her  very  death  unno- 
ticed, smote  Hester  to  the  heart ;  and  she  sank  down  be- 
side the  bed,  and  hid  her  face  from  the  searching  and  un- 
quiet eyes  of  Rose  Morley's  desolate  child. 

"  It's  a  good  kind  nurse  as  Mr.  Bramwell  has  sent," 
said  the  servant  ;  "  she's  going  to  read  the  Bible  and  pray 
for  you,  my  poor  dear.  She'll  stay  all  the  morning  with 
you,  while  I'm  busy  ;  and  you  must  ask  her  for  anything 
you  want." 

"  I  don't  want  anything,"  answered  the  plaintive  voice 
of  the  child  ;  and  Hester  raised  her  head  to  look  into  the 
white  face.  There  was  a  profound  serenity  and  patience 
in  it :  a  look  almost  of  satisfaction.  She  smiled  faintly  at 
Hester,  and  stretched  out  her  thin  fingers  to  touch  her 
forehead. 

"  You  can  go  away  now,  please,"  she  said  to  the  ser- 
vant ;  "  and  then  she  will  begin  to  read  and  talk  to  me." 

Hester  listened  to  the  servant's  retreating  steps,  and 
then  she  lay  down  beside  the  child,  and  took  her  fondly 
and  gently  into  her  arms. 

"  I  am  come  instead  of  your  mother,"  she  said,  with 
difficulty  restraining  her  tears  ;  "  you  may  talk  to  me  as  if 
I  were  your  mother." 

"  Do  you  know  my  mother  ?  "  ^e  asked. 

"  Oh,  very  well  indeed,  my  darling,"  answered  Hester  ; 
falling  by  instinct  into  the  caressing  tone  and  manner  of  a 
tender-hearted  woman  towards  a  cbild,  though  she  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  any  child  before.     "  Why,  she  lives 


384  HESTKR  morley's  ruo.Misi:. 

with  me  down  at  Little  Aston  ;  and  perhaps  some  d;iy 
you  may  come  too,  and  be  my  little  sister.  It  will  ah  be 
as  God  pleases  ;  He  knows  best." 

"Yes,"  said  the  child,  smiling  ;  "of course  He  knows 
best.  But  sometimes  I  think  if  He'd  only  let  me  and  my 
mother  live  together !  I've  lived  at  school  all  my  life,  and 
I've  only  seen  her  for  a  day  or  two,  now  and  then.  Do 
you  know  why  we  could  not  live  together  V' 

"She  was  very  poor,"  said  Hester,  "and  she  had  to 
work  very  hard  for  herself  and  you." 

"  And  my  father  must  have  been  very  poor,  too,"  con 
tinued  the  feeble  voice.  "  I  don't  think  anybody  else  in 
the  school  was  ever  so  poor,  for  they  all  have  holidays,  and 
I  never  have.  The  girls  used  to  tell  me  such  things  they'd 
done,  when  they  came  back  to  school.  Did  you  used  to 
have   holidays  ?  " 

"  I  never  went  to  school,"  answered  Hester. 

"  Never  went  to  school !  "  she  repeated,  raising  hei 
feeble  head  a  little  to  look  into  Hester's  face.  "  How 
happy  you  must  have  been  !  But  I've  been  at  school  all 
my  life  ;  and  now  I  think  God  will  let  me  go  to  have  my 
holidays  with  the  other  children  vi'ho  are  dead.  There  is 
a  verse  somewhere,  about  the  streets  being  full  of  little 
children  playing.  What  do  you  cry  for,  dear?  I  don't 
know  what  to  call  you.     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Hester,"  she  replied,  pressing  her  lips  upon  the  little 
hand.  The  child's  blue  eyes  glistened,  and  her  mouth 
quivered  with  surprise  and  delight. 

"  Why,  that  is  my  name  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  never 
cnn  be  the  good  Hester,  the  dear,  beautiful  Hester  I'm 
called  after  !  Oh,  are  you  that  Hester?  My  mother  used 
to  cry  ever  so  when  she  talked  about  her.  Are  you  the 
very  same  Hester .?  "  ,^ 


ALONE    IN    LONDON.  385 

"  Yes,  my  darling  little  Hester,"'  she  sobbed  ;  "  I  was 
her  little  girl  once." 

"  Then  we  are  both  Hesters  !  "  said  the  little  girl,  with 
a  playful  smile.  "  How  droll  that  is  !  Are  we  alike  iti 
anything  else,  1  wonder  ?     How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  I  am  ten  years  older  than  you,"  she  answered. 

"  And  perhaps  you  will  live  to  be  very  old,  and  I  shall 
die  soon,"  said  the  child ;  "  no,  we  are  not  alike  in  any- 
thing else.     Are  we  alike,  big  Hester?" 

*'  Yes ;  I  used  to  be  a  very  lonely  little  girl  like  you," 
said  Hester  pitifully  ;  "  nobody  ever  used  to  nurse  me  or 
play  with  me  like  other  children.     My  mother  was  dead." 

"  Had  you  a  live  father  ?  "  asked  little  Hester. 

'■  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  we  are  not  alike  in  that,"  went  on  the  child  ; 
"  I  never  had  a  father.  He  died  before  ever  I  was  born. 
If  he  had  been  alive  he  would  have  worked  and  worked  to 
get  money  that  we  might  not  be  so  very  poor,  and  for  me 
to  have  some  holidays.  Did  you  know  my  father,  Hes- 
ter ?  " 

"  Dear  child,  yes  !  "  she  murmured,  sadly. 

"  Oh,  tell  me  about  him.  Tell  me  what  he  was  like. 
My  mother  always  cried  if  I  spoke  about  him  ever.  I 
dream  of  him  so  often  ;  every  night  now,  I  think.  Do  you 
think  he  will  know  me  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  Your  Father  in  heaven  will  know  you,"  answered 
Hester. 

'•  Yes,  God,"  said  little  Hester,  with  a  simple  confi- 
dence. "  I  shall  see  Him  and  know  Him.  But  shall  I 
see  my  father  who  was  my  father  here  ?  " 

"  My  darhng,"  she  replied,  "  it  will  be  all  as  God 
chooses  for  us." 

She  nestled  down  contentedly  for  some  time  in  Hester's 
arms  ;  not  sleeping,  for  her  eyes  were  wide  open,  but  with 
17 


386  ii!;.srKR  murlev's  1'K(  ).m  i.-^k. 

a  restfulness  more  full  of  plea:jure  than  sleep.  But  after  a 
while  she  stirred  again,  and  took  off  her  white  cap,  letting 
her  hair  loose  about  her  face.  It  was  soft  brown  hair,  cui 
short,  but  curling  naturally  in  small  shining  rings. 

"  You  shall  cut  some  off,"  she  said ;  "  1  want  to  give 
them  away.     There  are  some  scissors  on  the  table." 

She  watched  the  curls  drop  off  one  by  one  upon  the 
quilt,  and  twisted  them  round  her  languid  fingers. 

"  Such  a  funny  thing  !  "  she  said,  looking  up  with  shin- 
ing eyes.  "  I  was  just  thinking  how  my  father  would  like 
one  of  them.  There's  one  for  my  mother,  and  one  for  Mr. 
Bramwell,  and  one  for  you;  only  three  little  curls  to  give 
away  !  Some  of  the  girls  have  uncles  and  aunts  and  grand- 
fathers, as  well  as  their  own  father  and  mother  and  broth- 
ers and  sisters.  How  I  should  have  liked  to  have  them 
all ;  and  how  I  would  have  loved  them  !  Are  you  any  rela- 
tion to  me  Hester  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  my  darling,"  she  said. 

"Did  you  love  my  flither  when  you  knew  him?  "she 
asked. 

"When  I  was  as  old  as  you  I  loved  him  very  much," 
answered  Hester,  with  a  faltering  voice;  "  he  used  to  read 
to  me  sometimes  while  I  sat  on  his  knee." 

"  But  he  never  nursed  me  on  his  knee  !  "  cried  the  child, 
with  a  sudden  passion  of  tears.  "  He  never  saw  me,  and 
we  never  knew  one  another." 

She  wept  bitterly  for  some  time  leaning  against  Hester, 
who  soothed  her  with  fond  words  and  caresses,  until  she 
grew  calm  again,  and  lay  down  upon  the  pillow  exhausted, 
with  her  face  as  white  as  the  cover  upon  which  it  rested. 

"  Tell  me  what  he  was  like,  while  I  lie  quiet,"  she 
whispered,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  He  was  tall  and  very  handsome,"  said  Hester. 


ALONE    IN    LONDON.  "        387 

"Very  handsome,"'  repeated  his  little  daughter,  with 
lips  that  could  scarcely  speak. 

"  And  he  had  a  very  pleasant  voice,"  continued  Hester. 

"  A  very  pleasant  voice,"  echoed  the  child's  faint  tones, 

"  Oh,  my  darling  1  "  cried  Hester,  "  I  cannot  tell  you 
any  more.  Be  quiet  now.  You  will  hurt  yourself  by 
talking." 

"  The  doctor  told  me  I  wasn't  to  talk  at  all,"'  she  said  ; 
"  but  I  can't  help  talking  to  you.  I  like  to  hear  your  voice 
speaking.     You  shall  read  to  me,  if  you  please." 

Hester  read  to  her  in  soft  Iqw  tones  for  some  time,  until 
she  fell  asleep,  holding  her  hand  fast.  By-and-by  there 
came  in  the  lady  of  the  house,  a  tall,  gaunt,  weary-looking 
woman,  with  all  the  airs  and  affectations  of  the  mistress  of  a 
cheap  boarding-school.  She  acknowledged  Hester's  pres- 
ence by  a  stiff  courtesy,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  re- 
garding the  child  with  an  air  of  cold  anxiety. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her.'"'  she  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  1  think  she  will  never  get  well,"  whispered  Hester, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Dear!  dear!  But  that  is  very  trying,"  she  replied  ; 
"especially  in  a  school.  The  parents  might  think  it  was 
measles  or  small-pox.     She  must  be  taken  away  at  once." 

"  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Bramwell  about  it,"  said  Hester. 
"  To-night  I  shall  go  to  his  chapel,  and  then  I  shall  see 
him.     She  shall  be  removed  to-morrow,  if  possible." 

"Is  there  no  immediate  danger?"  she  asked. 

"I  should  think  not,"  answered  Hester;  "but  the 
doctor  will  tell  you  when  he  comes." 

When  he  came,  the  doctor,  who  was  merely  a  young 
medical  assistant  to  an  older  man,  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  the  child  might  rally  and  live  through  the  summer, 
but  would  certainly  '■  be  cut  off"  at  the  approach  of  winter. 


388  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

Hester  staid  beside  her  ail  day,  and  only  in  the  evening 
left  her  in  order  to  go  to  Carl's  chapel,  which  was  about 
two  miles  away.  As  she  stooped  over  to  kiss  her,  the 
little  Hester  put  her  arm  feebly  round  her  neck  and  looked 
up  beseechingly  into  her  eyes. 

*'  You  will  not  be  away  long,"  she  murmured  ;  "  you 
are  sure  to  come  back  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  to  come  back  very  soon,"  she  said  ;  "  and 
perhaps  I  shall  bring  Mr.  Bramwell  back  with  me.  Yo^ 
are  fond  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  fond,"  whispered  the  child. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

THEN  AND  NOW. 

ALL  the  day,  after  Hester's  departure,  John  Morley 
suffered  under  an  access  of  morbid  and  despairing 
thoughts.  The  stillness  of  his  home  was  more  profound 
than  ever,  now  that  he  had  lost  the  soft  footstep  of  his 
daughter  moving  about  his  room,  and  her  low  caressing 
voice  speaking  to  him  from  tim.e  to  time.  Lawson  entered 
the  room  once,  after  knocking  loudly  at  the  door  and 
receiving  no  answer  ;  he  found  his  master  lying  half  across 
his  desk,  so  absorbed  in  reverie  as  to  be  unconscious  of 
his  presence,  until  he  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  Then 
he  lifted  up  his  face,  greyer  and  more  haggard  than  ever, 
with  eyes  burning  more  deeply  in  their  sockets,  while  his 
head  trembled  as  if  with  palsy.  It  was  the  last  interrup- 
tion but  one  which  broke  in  upon  his  melancholy  memories. 

This  other  interruption  was  the  entrance  of  the  young 
maid-servant,  who,  with  a  tearful  face,  came  to  tell  her 
master  that  a  brother  of  hers  was  coming  home  to  pay  his 
last  visit  there,  before  emigrating  to  America.  If  he  could 
only  spare  her  till  Monday  evening,  Lawson's  mother  had 
promised  to  look  after  the  house  and  wait  upon  him. 
John  Morley  said  *•  Go,"  almost  impatiently.  It  signified 
nothing  to  him  who  performed  the  small  services  he  re- 
quired. 

Madame  Lawson  had  promised  Hester  to  go  al^out 
nine  o'clock,  or  a  little  later,  after  her  son's  comfort  had 


390  HESTER    MORLEV.  S    PROMISE. 

been  provided  for  ;  and  to  stay  all  night  and  the  next  day 
in  John  Morley's  house.  The  girl  wanted  to  leave  at  four, 
and  it  seemed  but  a  small  thing  to  her  to  ask  the  poor 
woman  her  mistress  gave  a  shelter  to,  to  fill  up  the  space 
between  her  own  departure  and  the  arrival  of  Madame 
Lawson.  She  asked  Rose  boldly ;  and  Rose  seized  the 
chance  with  the  passionate  eagerness  of  one  who  has  long 
waited  for  the  moment  when  they  can  do  something,  any- 
thing, for  their  beloved.  She  would  have  waited  upon  John 
Morley,  upon  this  white-headed,  poverty-stricken,  deserted 
husband,  on  bended  knees,  with  deep  abasement  and 
trembling  devotion.  But  all  her  duties  would  be  to 
prepare  his  tea,  and  summon  him  to  it,  keeping  herself  un- 
seen. She  stole  up  stairs  with  a  noiseless  step,  into  his 
chamber,  and  arranged  the  bed  again,  which  had  been 
roughly  and  hastily  done  by  the  servant,  making  it  as  soft 
and  full  of  comfort  as  tender  hands  could  make  it.  Then 
she  looked  out  the  clothes  he  would  need  for  the  Sunday, 
lingering  over  her  work  with  a  frightened  ecstasy.  When 
the  hour  for  tea  came,  she  set  the  tray  and  his  chair  near 
the  fire,  in  a  room  adjoining  his  sitting-room,  and  put  his 
slippers  on  the  hearth.  Would  he  need  an3'thing  she  had 
not  placed  upon  the  table,  and  ring  for  her,  so  giving  her 
some  chance  of  hearing  his  voice,  and  looking  furtively 
into  his  face  ?  Whether  she  dreaded  or  hoped  for  this  most 
she  could  not  tell,  while  she  stood  at  the  kitchen  door,  with 
her  hands  pressed  against  her  heart,  as  she  listened  to  his 
movements  about  the  other  room.  But  he  did  not  ring  ; 
and,  after  a  brief  meal-time,  she  heard  him  go  back  to  his 
own  sitting-room.  He  remained  there  till  seven  o'clock, 
when  he  went  out  to  attend  some  meeting  at  the  chapel. 

She  was  alone  in  her  own  bouse  nov.',  quite  alone.  She 
could  venture  into  John  Morley's  desolate  parlor  which  she 
had  seen  so  often  from  without.     How  well  she  remember- 


THEN    AND    NOW.  39I 

ed  the  old  days  passed  in  it!  Here  was  the  carpet  she 
had  chosen  herself,  faded  and  threadbare,  with  one  long, 
narrow,  bare  strip,  which  his  feet  had  worn  in  his  restless 
pacings  to  and  fro.  The  scarlet  baize  she  had  nailed  with 
brass  nails  along  the  edge  of  the  bookshelves,  in  order  to 
brighten  up  the  dingy  rows  of  books,  was  a  deep  dull  red 
now,  and  the  nails  no  longer  glistened  in  the  firelight. 
She  began  to  wonder  how  the  room  overhead  would  look ; 
her  room,  which  she  had  locked  up  herself,  and  the  key  of 
which  was  still  safe  in  her  keeping.  She  knew  herself  to 
be  absolutely  alone,  with  no  fear  of  interruption  for  an- 
other hour  to  come.  Lingering  for  a  few  minutes  in  a 
tremor  of  nervous  hesitation,  she  could  not  succeed  in 
shaking  off  the  feverish  desire  to  see  it  once  again,  during 
this  absence  of  Hester,  which  made  it  possible  to  do  so. 
She  flew  back  to  her  refuge,  and  sought  for  the  key  at  the 
bottom  of  the  box  which  held  her  scanty  possessions.  It 
had  accompanied  her  in  all  her  wanderings, — this  key 
which  she  had  turned  upon  the  paradise  she  despised,  and 
could  never  more  re-enter.  She.  hastened  with  it — for  her 
time  was  not  long — up  the  staircase  again,  which  she  had 
so  often  trodden  v.'ith  a  light  step  and  lighter  heart;  past 
Hester's  little  room,  so  severe,  so  simple,  so  bare  of  all  the 
common  luxuries  of  girlhood  ;  past  hef  husband's  chamber. 
Beyond  stood  the  door  v/hich  no  hand  had  opened  since 
she  herself  had  closed  it.  The  key  was  not  rusty,  but  the 
lock  was,  and  it  grated  harshly,  and  the  hinges  creaked. as 
she  pushed  open  the  door.     Then  she  stood  inside. 

Just  as  she  had  left  it  !  She  had  remembered  ro  bring 
a  candle  with  her,  though  it  was  still  daylight  in  the  other 
rooms,  and  its  faint  light  was  insufficient  to  make  mani- 
fest all  the  ravages  of  time.  There  were  the  books  she 
had  been  reading,  after  her  fitful  fashion,  still  scattered  on 
the  table,  with  a  man's  glove  lying  among  them  ;  she  re- 


392  HESTER    MORT.KV'S    PROMISE. 

collected  it  in  an  instant,  it  was  one  of  Robert  Waldroirs, 
There  was  her  fanciful  little  couch  of  blue  damask  drawn 
up  to  the  fireside,  and  the  chair  beside  it  where  he  had  been 
sitting,  and  Hester's  low  hassock  between  her  seat  and  his. 
The  piano  was  still  open,  and  a  yellow  page  of  music,  no 
doubt  some  song  she  had  been  singing  to  him,  was  resting 
upon  the  stand.  A  grey  dust  and  tarnish  had  fallen  upon 
all,  but  she  scarcely  saw  it.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  could 
only  have  been  yesterday,  last  night,  when  she  locked  it 
up  ;  and  she  had  been  passing  through  some  horrible 
dream.  This  sharp  martyrdom  of  repentance  was  no  more 
than  a  trick  of  her  forewarning  conscience.  The  utter 
stillness  and  solitariness  of  the  house  was  but  an  accident 
of  the  passing  hour.  Hester  must  be  asleep  in  her  little 
bed ;  and  her  husband  would  come  in  soon  from  chapel. 
When  she  saw  Robert  again  she  would  bid  him  come  near 
her  no  more. 

Rose  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  gazing  vacantly 
about  her.  It  seemed  as  if  after  a  mighty  tempest,  after  a 
strong  flood  of  great  troubles  and  sins  which  had  tossed 
her  feeble  soul  from  billow  to  billow,  she  had  been  brought 
suddenly  home  again  to  the  haven  where  she  could  cast 
anchor  in  still  smooth  water.  She  had  been  very  happy 
to-day.  She  felt  like  a  child  whose  face  is  hidden  in  the 
close  embrace  of  its  mother,  and  who  sees  no  longer  the 
terrors  which  have  driven  it  to  that  refuge.  She  was  vague- 
ly, childishly  happy  again  for  a  moment.  Everything  evil 
was  drawing  near  to  an  end.  The  night  was  almost  past, 
and  the  day  was  at  hand.  Even  here,  in  the  place  which 
should  have  upbraided  her  most  loudly,  she  saw  sadness 
indeed,  but  not  hopelessness.  Her  sins,  which  were  many, 
had  been  pardoned. 

She  crossed  the  room  slowly  to  the  piano,  and  stooped 
down  to  look  at  the  music-sheet  on  it.    It  was  no  song,  but 


THEN    AXI)    NOW.  393 

a  chant, — "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father."  She  re- 
membered now  that  it  was  to  her  husbar.d,  r.ot  to  Rob- 
ert Waldron,  she  had  sung  it ;  and  he  had  stood  beside 
her,  his  hand  resting  upon  her  shoulder,  and  his  voice,  a 
low,  weak,  yet  sweet  voice,  joining  with  hers.  Was  it  not 
a  token  for  good,  finding  this  sacred  chant  still  open  ? 
Then  she  had  known  nothing  about  going  to  the  Father. 
Now  she  had  arisen,  with  all  her  sins  and  unfaithfulness, 
and  gone  to  Him,  and  He  had  seen  her  afar  otf,  and  had 
received  her  gladly.  Would  it  not  be  the  same  with  her 
husband  ?  She  sat  down  and  ran  her  fingers  absently 
along  the  discolored  keys.  The  jarring,  jingling  tones, 
which  had  lost  all  harmony,  brought  her  back  sharply  to 
the  full  reality  of  her  position.  She  could  dream  no  more. 
The  small  mirror,  which  she  had  had  set  over  the  piano, 
reflected  from  its  dulled  surface  a  faded,  stricken,  wither- 
ed face,  instead  of  the  bright,  laughing  features  of  the 
young,  proud  mistress  of  a  new  home.  She  was  Rose  Mor- 
ley,  the  guilty  wife  of  a  dishonored  husband. 
17* 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

A    NIGHT    OF    TERROR. 

JOHN  MORLEY  went  up  to  the  chapel,  and  after  wait- 
ing there  some  time,  and  finding  no  other  member 
of  the  small  church  was  coming,  he  went  back  directly  to 
his  house.  All  day  he  had  been  the  prey  of  vehement  agi- 
tation, and  the  approaching  return  of  night  did  not  tend 
to  allay  it.  He  let  himself  into  his  lonely  dwelling,  and 
stood  upon  the  threshold  for  a  minute,  with  the  door  half 
open  in  his  hand,  listening  for  some  sound  to  break  the 
stillness  of  his  home.  A  craven  fear  of  being  quite  alone 
was  at  W'Ork  within  him  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  ;  his 
flesh  crept  and  his  nerves  tingled.  But  he  had  no  resource, 
there  was  no  means  of  escaping  from*  this  new  and  panic 
dread.  He  closed  the  door  and  went  on,  stopping  to 
change  his  boots  for  the  slippers  he  found  put  ready  foi 
him.  He  entered  his  own  parlor  and  lit  his  lamp  ;  but 
this  attack  upon  his  nervous  system  continued  to  gather 
strength.  His  hands  trembled  until  he  could  not  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  his  book.  A  vague,  indescribable  im- 
pression was  produced  upon  his  mind  by  something  in  the 
aspect  of  his  room,  that  his  lost  wife  had  been  there  a  few 
minutes  ago, — had  but  just  quitted  it.  He  fancied  more 
keenly  than  ever  that  he  could  almost  see  her  and  hear 
her.  An  agony  of  mingled  despair  and  tenderness  shook 
his  soul  to  the  centre.  It  might  have  been  but  a  day  or 
two  since  Rose  had  forsaken  him  ;  it  might  have  been  the 


A    NIGHT   OF   TERROR.  395 

very  night  when  he  had  aroused  his  little  girl  fiom  her 
sleep,  telling  her  it  was  better  to  die  than  to  live.  There 
was  something  unutterably  mournful  in  this  strong,  unwit- 
nessed, insupportable  anguish,  which  mastered  John  Moi- 
ley,  and  brought  the  past  before  him  a  hundred-lold  more 
vivid  than  the  present. 

Upon  this  paroxysm  of  his  soul,  which  just  now  v.  as 
bearing  him  rapidly  to  the  verge  of  insanity,  there  fell  sud- 
denly the  shrill,  false  jangle  of  the  piano  in  the  room  over- 
head. He  lifted  himself  up,  and  hearkened  with  a  ghastly 
face.  The  discord  ran  through  his  fevered  brain  once,  and 
then  ceased  ;  the  house  was  plunged  again  into  the  dreari- 
ness of  an  unbroken  silence. 

He  held  his  breath  and  listened  for  some  minutes,  his 
heart  failing  him  for  fear  of  he  knew  not  what.  He  be- 
lieved that  Carl  had  summoned  Hester  to  the  death-bed 
of  Rose.  Could  it  be,  could  it  possibly  be,  that  in  the 
supreme  hour  and  article  of  death,  she  was  having  per- 
mission to  return  once  more,  in  ghostly  presence,  to  her 
abandoned  home?  His  wrath  against  her,  and  his  tender- 
ness for  her,  rose  again  to  their  highest  pitch.  If  her 
apparition  itself  stood  before  him,  the  mere  spectral  shade 
of  his  guilty  wife,  he  would  hurl  against  it  all  the  pent-up 
anger  of  these  many  years,  or  lavish  upon  it  the  treasure 
of  his  unexhausted  love.  Was  there  any  other  sound  to 
be  heard,  or  was  it  his  fancy  that  now  a  stealthy  step, 
scarcely  louder  than  the  passing  of  a  breath  of  wind  through 
the  house,  was  creeping  across  the  floor  overhead }  The 
moisture  stood  in  large  drops  upon  his  forehead  ;  and  his 
face  grew  set  and  pallid  as  the  face  of  a  corpse.  He  tried 
to  speak  aloud,  if  only  to  dispel  the  awful  stillness  about 
him,  but  his  throat  was  dry  and  his  tongue  parched.  At 
length  there  came  to  his  ears  a  shrill  cry  and  a  smothered 
sob, — a  strange,  terrible,  inexplicable  sound,  which   made 


396  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

him  deaf  for  a  minute  or  two  to  every  other  noise.  When 
that  surging  in  his  bi^in  was  over,  and  his  dimmed  sight 
grew  dear  again,  he  laid  a  stern  hold  upon  his  fleeting 
courage,  and  with  slow  steps  ascended  to  the  floor  above. 

His  own  chamber  \Yas  the  first  upon  the  landing,  and 
he  had  scarcely  ever  been  beyond  it.  He  passed  Hester's 
open  door,  and  glanced  round  the  room,  but  there  was  no 
sound  or  sight  of  horror  there.  Farther  on,  a  fringe  of 
light  glimmered  in  the  dusk  from  under  the  door  of  the 
locked-up  drawing-room.  His  footateps  faltered  and  were 
arrested  for  an  instant.  A  light  there  !  What  then  could 
there  be  within  that  room  ?  His  failing  and  reluctant  feet 
carried  him  to  the  very  door-sill.  The  catch  of  the  lock 
had  slipped,  and  the  feeblest  effort*  of  his  hand  would 
suffice  to  push  the  door  open  ;  but  he  could  not  move. 
Superstition  swooped  down  upon  him  with  all  the  might 
of  its  most  ghastly  terrors,  and  he  had  no  strength  to  con- 
tend with  it.  At  last  he  lashed  himself  up  into  a  fury,  a 
storm  of  ruthless  anger  against  Rose.  If  he  and  she  were 
both  dead,  and  had  met  at  length  in  the  mysterious  land 
of  spirits,  he  would  even  there  denounce  her  for  the  woes 
she  had  made  him  suffer. 

He  pushed  the  door  with  his  hand,  and  looked  in. 
The  one  candle  burning  upon  the  table  left  the  corners  of 
the  room  in  obscurity,  but  there  fell  enough  light  upon  the 
piano  to  disclose  to  him  the  form  of  some  woman,  slight 
and  slender  like  her,  with  a  pale  grey  shawl  wrapped  about 
her,  leaning  forward,  or  rather  lying  against  the  piano 
before  which  she  sat.  The  attitiide  was  utterly  helpless 
and  inanimate,  as  if  she  had  fallen  there  fainting.  Her 
long  fair  hair  had  dropped  down  about  her  shoulders.  I  le 
held  himself  back,  quivering  v^'ith  passion,  and  gazing  at 
her  with  steadfast  and  flaming  eyes.  It  was  indeed  Rose, 
whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body,  he  could  not  tell ; 


A   NIGHT    OF   TERROIv.  397 

it  was  his  wife,  whom  he  had  loved  so  fondly,  and  whom 
he  had  loved  more,  he  knew  it  now,  since  she  left  him 
than  while  she  was  still  with  him. 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  burning  head,  and  jDressed  it 
across  his  eyes,  but  the  apparition  remained  there  in  its 
attitude  of  motionless  despair.  Once  he  thought  it  moved, 
but  it  was  only  the  flicker  of  the  candle  in  the  draught 
from  the  open  door  which  set  the  shadows  about  her  flut- 
tering. He  heard  in  the  distant  part  of  the  house,  where 
the  workrooms  were,  the  shutting  of  some  door,  and  the 
turning  of  a  lock,  and  he  knew  it  was  Lawson  going  away 
from  his  work.  He  was  late  to-night,  he  thought ;  turning 
the  words  over  and  over  again  in  his  mind,  as  if  glad  to 
get  some  common  every-day  idea  into  his  brain.  The 
candle  was  burning  low,  and  would  not  last  many  minutes 
longer.  In  a  short  time  he  would  be  alone  in  the  dark- 
ness, with  this  awful  and  speechless  form.  He  must  needs 
speak  ;  he  must  enter  ;  he  must  perhaps  touch  this  strange 
shadow.  With  a  sudden  shrill  cry  of  a  man's  most  terrible 
anguish,  which  awoke  hollow  echoes  through  the  empty 
house,  John  Morley  cast  himself  into  the  gloomy  room 
before  him. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  came  out  again,  with  a  face  from 
whose  veins  all  the  blood  seemed  to  have  gone,  but  with  a 
stain  of  deep  crimson  upon  the  palms  of  his  hands,  at 
which  he  looked  again  and  again  with  eyes  of  horror.  He 
went  hesitatingly  down  stairs  into  his  own  parlor,  and  opened 
his  desk,  and  a  drawer  within  it  where  he  kept  his  money. 
He  took  out  a  roll  of  notes,  and  spread  them  before  him 
with  an  air  of  bewilderment,  resting  his  forehead  upon  his 
hand,  which  stained  his  white  hair  with  clammy  clots  of 
blood.  He  sat  there  a  few  minutes  only,  but  he  fancied 
these  were  hours ;  and  the.  soft  pure  grey  of  the  evening 
sky,  with  a  few  rosy  clouds  floating  over  it,  he  took  for  the 


1 


398  HESTER    .M(JKLKV\S    PROMISE. 

dawn  of  the  morning.  He  roused  himself,  shuddering  ; 
and  lifting  his  bloodshot  and  heavy  eyes  to  the  dying  light 
in  the  heavens,  he  muttered  aloud  in  the  silent  room,  "  I 
must  flee  to  Hester." 

He  went  up  stairs  to  put  together  a  few  clothes  in  a  port- 
manteau, with  a  confused  notion  of  preparing  for  a  journey. 
Then  he  caught  sight  of  his  blood-stained  hair  in  the  glass, 
and  shivered  and  moaned  like  a  frightened  child.  He 
washed  it  and  his  hands,  again  and  again,  as  if  he  could  see 
the  stain  long  after  it  had  been  washed  away.  After  this 
he  took  up  his  portmanteau  and  left  the  house  unlocked  and 
empty  ;  strode  quickly  up  the  street,  past  the  chapel,  under 
the  trees,  and  along  the  lanes  which  had  invited  him  in 
vain  only  yesterday.  He  walked  all  night  swiftly,  with 
perplexed  and  wandering  thoughts ;  and  when  the  dawn 
came,  he  inquired  of  the  first  person  he  met  where  the  near- 
est station  w'as,  and  there  he  took  the  earliest  train  for 
London. 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

BESIDE   HIMSELF. 

A  LITTLE  after  six  o'clock  on  Sunday  evening  Hestei 
entered  the  porch  of  Carl's  chapel.  Already  the 
fashionably  dressed  congregation  were  beginning  to  arrive, 
and  she  heard  his  praises  spoken  as  "she  wailed  to  be  put 
into  a  seat.  She  was  at  last  conducted  to  an  obscure  place 
in  one  of  the  galleries,  where,  though  she  could  see  the  pul- 
pit well,  it  was  not  probable  that  Carl  could  recognize  her 
face  amidst  the  number  surrounding  him.  Hester  was 
content,  however  ;  she  would  hear  him  again,  and  when  the 
service  was  over  she  would  go  to  speak  to  him  in  the  ves- 
try afeeut  little  Hester. 

Carl  appeared  at  the  appointed  minute,  and  she  trem- 
bled nervously  as  be  glanced  round  the  crowded  chapel. 
Then  followed  an  hour  of  intense  happiness. — that  of  a 
woman  whose  most  devout  worship  is  led  by  the  being  she 
loves  the  most.  Hester's  whole  soul  was  in  that  brief  fleet- 
ing season  of  worship  ;  an  inter\'al  so  short,  that  when  the 
mass  of  peojjle  rose  to  go  away,  she  looked  about  her  in 
amazement.  Carl  seemed  to  have  caught  her  eye  then,  for 
he  stood  a  moment  before  leaving  the  pulpit,  gazing  to- 
wards her.  It  was  some  time  before  she  could  get  down 
the  crowded  staircase,  and  when  she  did  so  the  chapel- 
keeper  told  her  the  best  way  to  get  to  the  minister's  vestry 
was  to  go  round  on  the  outside  of  the  building.  She  pass- 
ed on  with  the  throng,  but  just  as  she  was  about  to  turn  the 


400  HESTER    MORI.EY'S   PROMISE. 

corner  of  the  chapel,  she  felt  her  hand  suddenly  seized  and 
herself  drawn  rapidly  down  towards  the  street.  It  was  her 
father,  who  had  taken  hold  of  her,  and  was  hurrying  her  to- 
wards a  cab  which  was  waiting  at  a  little  distance.  But 
what  could  bring  her  father  there  ?  What  terrible  calamity 
could  have  driven  him  so  far  adrift  from  his  fixed  habits? 
Had  Rose  persisted  in  discovering  herself  to  him  ;  and 
had  some  catastrophe  been  the  result  ?  He  did  not  speak 
to  her,  and  when  she  spoke  he  appeared  deaf  to  her  voice. 
He  sank  down  into  a  corner  of  the  cab,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands.  Once  he  looked  up,  and  there  was  a  gleam 
of  light,  not  quite  sane,  in  his  sunken  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  father?"  she  ventured  to  ask. 

"Not  yet !  "  he  cried,  shrinking  back  again ;  "  not  yet, 
Hester?     I  am  not  quite  ready  yet." 

They  drove  rapidly  to  some  station,  and  he  sent  her 
on  to  the  platform  while  he  bought  the  tickets.  A  train 
was  on  the  point  of  starting,  and  he  hurried  her  into  a 
carriage.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  suppose  that  they 
were  going  anywhere  but  back  to  Little  Aston  ;  and  by  the 
speed  at  which  they  travelled,  she  judged  that  they  would 
soon  be  half-way  there.  This  was  as  they  passed  some 
what  slowly  through  a  station  (for  they  stopped  at  none), 
and  she  saw  by  the  clock  there  that  it  was  after  eleven. 
She  w'ondered  how  little  Hester  would  bear  the  disappoint- 
ment of  not  seeing  her  again  ;  and  the  tears  she  could  not 
keep  back,  and  which  she  would  not  wipe  away  lest  her 
father  should  see  them,  stole  down  her  cheeks.  Presently 
the  train  slackened  speed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  came  to  a 
stand-still.  There  w^as  no  station  near ;  and  it  was  as  dark 
as  it  ever  is  during  the  early  nights  of  June. 

"What  can  be  the  matter?"  she  exclaimed  1o  herself, 
involuntarily.  Their  fellow-passengers  were  collecting 
together  their  cloaks  and  parcels,  and  preparing  to  leave 


BESIDE    HIMSELF.  .(Ol 

the  carriage.     The  gentleman  who  was  next  to  her  caught 
her  half-auclible  exclamation. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter,"  he  answered,  pleasantly; 
"  the  train  runs  alongside  the  vessels,  and  we  have  notViing 
o   do  but  embark  immediately.     Your  luggage  will  be 
quite  safe." 

"This  young  lady  is  my  daughter,"  said  John  Moiley, 
hurriedly j  "and  I  will  take  care  of  her." 

Hester  looked  out,  and  saw  an  utterly  inexplicable  and 
unfamiliar  scene.  There  lay  just  before  her  the  black  out- 
lines of  a  steamer,  and  beyond  them  a  dark  tossing  plain, 
with  a  faint  suggestion  of  light  upon  it,  as  if  it  had  not  yet 
quite  lost  the  lustre  of  the  sunset.  A  confusion  of  strange 
cries  and  voices  surrounded  her,  amid  which  she  heard  her 
father  whisper,  '•  For  God's  sake  be  silent,  and  follow  me." 
Almost  before  she  could  recover  from  her  amazement,  she 
found  herself  on  the  deck  of  one  of  the  steamers,  which 
soon  began  to  move  slowly  away  from  the  pier. 

The  other  passengers  had  hurried  down  into  the  cabin 
to  secure  berths  for  the  night ;  and  the  deck  was  deserted 
by  all  except  the  captain  and  his  crew,  who  were  busy  in 
getting  safely  out  of  port.  John  Morley  led  his  daughter 
to  a  seat  removed  from  every  danger  of  being  overheard, 
and  sat  down  close  beside  her,  shivering  with  excitement 
as  much  as  from  the  chilly  air  of  the  sea. 

"  Hester,"  he  whispered,  in  a  hollow,  tremulous  voice, 
"I  am  fleeing  to  a  city  of  refuge." 

"  What  is  it,  fother  ?  "  she  asked,  in  steady  and  tender 
tones.     "Tell  me  all  that  has  happened  to  you." 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
dark  line  of  shore  they  could  yet  see  as  they  were  leaving 
it  behind  them.  Hester  asked  herself  if  all  this  was  true, 
—that  they,  her  father  and  herself,  were  escaping  secretly 
by  night  from   England,  where  only  a  few  hours  ago  she 


402  HESTER    MORLKV'S   PROMISE. 

had  been  listening  lo  Carl  in  his  own  chapel.  It  ivas  all 
too  real,  astounding  as  it  was,  for  her  to  doubt  its  truth ; 
it  was  too  wild  to  be  a  trick  of  her  sleep.  The  great  sea 
spread  around  them, — the  sea  she  had  never  seen,  which 
she  would  never  see  again  without  remembering  this  night, 
indelibly  stamped  upon  her  brain.  Without  moving  or 
speaking,  she  sat  beside  her  father,  waiting  for  him  to  break 
the  silence. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  it  all  happened,"  he  said  at  last, 
in  the  tone  of  one  thinking  aloud.  "  Rose  was  there, — 
not  her  ghost ;  it  could  not  have  been  that,  for  the  stain 
of  blood  came  off  upon  my  hands,  and  my  hair  was 
reddened  with  it.  She  was  dead  when  I  went  into  the 
room, — murdered ;  but  who  could  have  murdered  her.  I 
would  not  have  touched  a  hair  of  her  head.  Such  pretty 
hair  it  used  to  be,  as  golden  as  the  sunlight.  But  then,  you 
see,  nobody  would  have  believed  that  I  was  not  the 
murderer.  I  do  not  know  myself  who  could  have  been  so 
cruel,  so  fierce  ;  and  she  had  harmed  no  one  as  she  had 
harmed  me.  All  the  world  would  have  said  I  was  guilty  ; 
and  if  they  had  not  hanged  me,  they  would  have  imprisoned 
me  as  mad,  though  I  should  swear  I  did  not  do  it.  So  I 
said  I  will  flee, — I  will  escape  from  my  country  while  there 
is  time.  It  would  be  a  most  horrible  thing  for  my  daughter, 
if  her  father  was  hung  as  a  murderer,  or  shut  up  as  a 
madman." 

Hester's  heart  had  grown  faint  and  sick  as  she  listened 
to  her  father's  almost  unconscious  and  delirious  sentences. 
But  at  this  moment  the  captain  came  up  to  ask  them  if 
they  would  not  go  below,  and  she  had  to  control  herself  to 
answer  him  quietly. 

"  My  father  is  ill,"  she  answered,  "  and  we  would  rather 
Stay  here  a  little  while.     By-and-by  we  will  go  down." 

He  staid  beside  them  for  a  few  minutes,  making  some 


BESIDE    HIMSELF.  403 

observations  which  she  scarcely  heard,  though  she  exerted 
herself  to  reply  to  them  ;  and  then  he  left  them  once  more 
to  themselves. 

"  Father,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  answer  me  a  question 
or  two.     How  did  you  find  out  she  was  at  home  }  " 

"I  came  in  from  chapel  at  twenty  minutes  to  eight,"  he 
said,  "  and  sat  down  in  my  own  chair  ;  but  I  could  not  read. 
All  at  once  I  heard  the  sound  of  her  piano,  and,  some  min- 
utes after,  a  strange  noise  between  a  scream  and  a  sob. 
Then,  just  as  the  clock  was  sfriking  eight,  I  went  up  stairs, 
and  there  was  a  light  shining  in  her  room,  and  I  went  to 
look  in,  and  Rose  was  there, — Rose  herself  ;  not  her  spirit." 

"Did  you  speak  to  her  .^  "  asked  Hester. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  my  tongue  refused  its  office.  I 
went  up  to  her  and  laid  my  hand  upon  her,  but  she  never 
moved.  Then  I  saw  her  hair  all  clotted  with  blood,  and  I 
lifted  up  her  head  and  found  that  she  was  gone  far  away 
from  me  where  no  man  knows  love  or  hatred.  She  was 
dead — murdered,  and  could  never  be  pardoned  by  me." 

"  But  how  could  it  be  ? ''  cried  Hester,  who  could 
scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  Rose  was  dead,  in  the  horror 
of  hearing  that  she  had  been  murdered." 

*'  I  know  nothing,"  said  John  Morley,  gloomily.  "  We 
were  alone  in  the  house.  It  was  I  who  found  her.  My 
hands  and  hair  were  stained  with  her  blood.  If  I  had  given 
myself  up.  they  could  have  done  nothing  else  but  punish 
me  for  the  crime.  But  I  am  innocent,  Hester :  as  itmocent 
as  yourself" 

"  And  did  you  leave  her  there .''  "  she  asked. 

"  I  carried  her  to  the  sofa,"  he  said,  "  and  laid  her 
down  gently.  She  was  dead  and  I  could  kiss  her  again. 
I  covered  her  over  with  a  grey  shawl  which  was  stained 
red.  The  candle  was  almost  burnt  out  and  I  could  stay 
no  longer.     Yes,  I  left  her  there  ;  and  she  lies  there   now, 


404  HESTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

perhaps.  They  may  not  discover  I  am  gone  very  quickly, 
for  nobody  goes  into  that  room.  I  think  I  have  been  al- 
most mad  all  day,  but  I  am  better  now  with  you,  Hester, 
()  Hester,  be  very  pitiful  towards  me  I  " 

He  broke  out  suddenly  into  low,  smothered  moans  and 
wailings,  and  put  his  arms  round  her,  resting  his  head  upon 
her  shoulder,  while  she  pressed  her  lips  again  and  again 
to  his  face,  and  told  him  that  she  was  his  daughter,  his 
child,  who  could  never  forsake  him,  never  feel  anything 
but  love  and  pity  for  him.  So  she  soothed  him,  crushing 
down  the  grief  and  terror  of  her  own  heart,  and  seeking  the 
most  tender  expressions  of  her  affection  for  him.  He 
grew  calm  at  last,  calmer  than  he  had  been  for  many  days. 

"  Did  I  do  right  in  fleeing  ? "  he  asked,  anxiously, 
I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  My  dishonor  has  been  a  burden 
as  heavy  as  I  could  bear ;  and  this  would  have  been  too 
much.  I  must  have  lost  my  reason,  if  they  had  not  made 
it  seem  that  I  had  lost  it  before.  Do  you  think  me  mad, 
Hester?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  she  answered.  He  clung  so  much  to 
her  like  a  child,  that  unconsciously  her  voice  and  expres- 
sion were  those  of  one  who  talks  to  a  child.  There  were 
many  things  she  wanted  to  learn  yet,  and  she  must  keep 
him  as  calm  as  possible. 

"  But  I  am  almost  mad,"  he  said.  "  I  have  neither  a 
sound  mind  nor  a  sound  body.  1  have  destroyed  them 
both.     O  my  God  !  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?  " 

A  cry  which  Hester  echoed  in  her  heart  of  hearts.  She 
knew  that  his  words  were  true  ;  that  he  had  been  dwelling 
too  long  on  the  border-land  between  sanity  and  insanity. 
But  then,  was  it  indeed  true  that  his  hand  had  not  been 
suddenly  hurried  into  a  deed  of  violence  such  as  he  had 
committed  against  Robert  Waldron  ?  How  was  she  to  be 
sure  of  that  ?     Rose  was  dead — murdered.     \\'ho  could  be 


BESIDE    HIMSELF.  .405 

guilty,  if  it  were  not  her  father  ?  She  felt  a  steadfast  child- 
like loyalty  towards  him.  If  he  were  criminal,  her  calm, 
innocent,  simple  nature  would  understand  the  character  of 
his  crime  better  than  a  more  worldly  and  more  divided 
heart  could  have  done.  It  was  heinous,  terrible,  mourn- 
ful, but  not  unpardonable  :  not  without  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances. She  must  think  for  him,  take  the  guidance 
of  his  flight.     To  her  fell  the  choice  of  a  city  of  refuge. 

"  Where  are  we  going  to  ?  "  she  asked,  and  the  sim- 
plicity of  her  question  struck  her  forcibly  amid  the  per- 
plexity of  their  circumstances. 

"  We  are  going  to  Paris,''  he  answered  ;  "  after  that, 
anywhere,  — anywhere  that  I  can  be  safe." 

The  morning  dawned  before  Hester  could  form  any 
plan  for  the  future.  She  saw  the  pale  streaks  of  light  com- 
ing across  the  smooth  level  of  the  sea,  and  playing  upon 
the  edge  of  its  soft  ripple.  Her  father  had  fallen  into  an 
uneasy  slumber,  and  his  dress  and  hers  were  wet  with  the 
heavy  dew  of  the  night.  She  had  been  tempted  to  wish 
that  both  of  them  could  be  lost  amid  the  multitude  of 
waves,  and  lie  together  in  peace  with  the  depths  closing 
them  about,  and  the  weeds  wrapped  about  their  heads. 
The  captain  came  and  looked  compassionately  upon  her 
father's  pallid  face,  and  she  called  a  shadowy  smile  to  her 
lips  and  eyes  as  she  met  his  gaze. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone ;  "we  have 
had  a  very  fine  passage  across." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  You  have  crossed  before  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  No,"  said  Hester. 

"  Well,  there  is  no  trouble  ;  the  omnibus  will  be  at  the 
gate  of  the  custom-house  to  take  you  straight  on  to  the  sta- 
tion.    I  will  get  your  luggage  passed  quickly." 

"We  have  scarcely  any  luggage,"  she  answered,  with  an 


406  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

inward  tremor;  "only  my  father's  portmanteau  I  shall 
buy  all  I  want  in  Paris." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  captain  ;  "you  will  get  every- 
thing in  the  first  fashion  there." 

A  spasm  of  hysterical  laughter  contracted  Hesters 
throat,  and  played  oddly  upon  her  face.  A  flash  of  the 
grotesque  darted  across  the  profound  darkness  of  her  cir- 
cumstances ;  but  it  brought,  with  it  a  vivid  quickening  of 
her  oppressed  brain.  She  saw  what  she  could  do.  She 
would  pass  quickly  through  Paris  with  her  father,  not  tar- 
rying there  ai  all,  and  go  on  to  Burgundy.  She  knew  well 
by  the  minute  description  of  Lawson's  mother,  the  little 
town  from  which  she  had  come.  It  was  a  very  quiet,  very 
remote  place,  several  leagues  from  the  nearest  line  of  rail, 
and  where  the  visit  of  any  English  was  an  almost  unheard- 
of  thing.  In  this  hour  of  keen  mental  activity  she  could 
recollect  the  names  of  the  cure,  the  doctor,  the  baker  even  , 
all  whose  histories  the  garrulous  old  Frenchwoman  had 
loved  to  narrate.  The  little  town  did  not  seem  strange 
to  Hester.  It  offered  her  an  asylum  from  afar  off  within 
its  old  grey  walls.  She  knew  the  patois  of  the  province 
well ;  she  could  speak  it  as  freely  as  the  purer  French 
Robert  Waldron  had  perfected  her  in.  This  should  be 
their  city  of  refuge. 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

A      CITY     OF     REFUGE. 

HESTER  experienced  no  difficulty  in  making  her  way 
through  Paris.  Her  habit  of  conversing  in  French 
with  Lawson  and  his  mother  had  given  her  a  fluent  use  of 
the  language  ;  and  though  her  manner  and  appearance,  as 
well  as  her  father's,  were  unmistakably  English,  she  had  no 
need  to  attract  unusual  attention  to  them  by  any  ignorance 
or  difficulty  on  her  part.  She  made  inquiries  as  to  the 
route  for  Burgundy,  and  went  at  once  from  one  station  to 
the  other,  staying  no  more  than  a  few  hours  in  Paris. 
They  arrived  in  safety,  and  without  observation,  at  the 
small  country  station  to  which  they  were  bound.  There 
were  yet  six  leagues  to  accomplish  before  reaching  Ecque- 
monville  ;  but  an  omnibus  from  that  town  was  waiting  for 
the  train.  It  was  a  four  hours'  journey,  for  the  diligence 
was  heavy  and  cumbrous,  and  the  cart-horses  attached 
to  it  by  rope  harness  were  slow-footed  ;  four  miles  and  a 
half  an  hour  was  the  utmost  speed  they  could  attain.  After 
the  rapid  whirl,  and  the  overwhelming  excitement  of  the  last 
thirty-six  hours,  Hester  found  a  relief  in  the  slow  progress 
of  their  conveyance.  She  was  worn  out,  and  her  heavy  eyes 
scarcely  saw  the  strange  country  they  were  traversing  ;  but 
John  Morley  was  all  eager  and  surprised  attention.  They 
were  crossing  a  level  plain  of  several  miles,  with  neither 
hedgerows  nor  clumps  of  trees  to  vary  its  uniform  aspect, 
except  that  here  and  there,  at  the  interval  of  two  or  three 


408  HESTER    MURLEV'S   PROMISE. 

miles,  they  passed  a  coppice  of  stone-pines  ;  and  that  very 
fir  away  in  the  marvellous  clear  light  of  the  distance,  there 
stretched  a  black,  irregular  line  against  the  horizon,  which 
spoke  plainly  of  a  forest.  Since  the  moment  the  steamer 
had  left  the  pier  at  Folkstone,  John  Morleyhad  abandoned 
himself  implicidy  to  Hester's  guidance.  He  did  not  ask 
where  she  was  taking  him  ;  though  his  mind  was  all  alert  to 
the  impressions  the  novel  scenery  was  producing  upon  it. 
He  had  never  been  out  of  England  ;  and  as  we  know,  for  the 
last  eleven  years,  he  had  travelled  no  farther  from  his  house 
than  to  the  chapel  where  he  had  once  been  wont  to  wor- 
ship. He  had  passed  through  sharp  dolour  and  sore  trav- 
ail, and  come  out  after  the  sharpest  and  sorest  pang  of  all 
into  this  new  life,  where  every  object  was  fresh  and  strange 
to  him.  His  brain,  with  a  healing  forgetfulness,  refused  to 
recall  the  later  scenes  through  which  he  had  come.  Every- 
thing about  his  route  diverted  his  thoughts.  The  blue 
blouses  of  the  peasantry,  the  coquettish  snow-white  caps  of 
the  countr3'-women,  the  jingle  of  the  bells  about  the  horse- 
gear,  the  wonderful  blue  of  the  sky,  the  clear  dark  shadows, 
the  golden  harvest  of  the  vast  plain  ripening  in  the  full 
light  of  the  June  sun,  withdrew  him  from  his  morbid  mus- 
ings. By  fine  gradations,  as  fine  as  the  footsteps  with  which 
the  morning  steals  towards  the  sleeping  earth,  his  b(mt  and 
heavy  eyebrows  relaxed  a  little,  and  the  rigidity  of  his  lips 
softened.  One  might  have  said  towards  the  close  of  their 
journey,  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  little  town,  lying  in 
a  valley,  and  girded  about  with  vineyards  with  grey  old  walls 
and  narrow  gateways,  giving  it  the  aspect  of  a  true  city  of 
r.  fiige  ;  one  might  have  said  that  his  face  kindled  with  a 
smile  struggling  from  his  soul,  but  scarcely  strong  enough 
lu  reach  the  surface. 

The  only  thoughts  Hester's  weary  mind  could   retain 
had  been   anxious   ones.     Her  father  had   given   up   his 


A    CITY    OF    REFUGE.  40(3 

pocket-book  to  her ;  and  she  had  found  in  it  notes  for 
;£,'ioo,  the  residue  of  the  money  lent  by  Mr.  Waldron. 
She  knew  pretty  well  the  cost  of  living  in  this  remote  part 
of  Burgundy,  and  that  this  sum,  with  her  thrifty  economy, 
would  keep  them  well  for  eighteen  months  or  more.  But 
what  was  to  become  of  them  ?  Were  they  really  exiled 
for  ever  from  England  and  Little  Aston  ?  Safe  they  would 
be,  but  what  a  safety?  The  diligence  entered  Ecquem.on- 
ville  under  a  gateway  in  the  thick  walls,  with  the  old  gates 
still  hanging  upon  their  hinges,  and  grown  over  with  lich- 
ens and  mosses.  It  stopped  before  an  inn  on  one  side  of 
the  square  which  formed  the  market-place,  with  an  obelisk 
in  its  centre.  A  group  of  curious  loungers  awaited  its 
arrival,  and  a  bevy  of  laundresses,  who  were  washing  at  a 
fountain  close  by,  paused  in  their  work  as  it  drove  up. 
Hester  and  her  father  descended  from  it,  and  caused  as 
great  a  sensation  as  if  they  had  fallen  in  their  midst  from 
the  clouds.  But,  with  these  exceptions,  the  place  was  all 
silent  and  deserted,  not  a  creature  was  to  be  seen  ;  for  the 
sultry  heat  of  the  afcernoon  had  driven  the  townspeople  to 
their  coolest  retreats. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  the  widow  Limet  has  apartments 
to  let  now.^"  asked  Hester  of  the  conductor  of  the  dili- 
gence, who  had  been  staring  at  her  and  her  father  ever 
since  descending  from  his  high  seat,  without  blinking  his 
eyelids  once,  and  whose  eyes  opened  still  wider  at  this 
question. 

"  The  veuve  Limet !  "  he  stammered  ;  "  is  it  that 
madame  knows  veuve  Limet.'"' 

"No,"  she  answered  with  a  wan  smile,  "  but  I  have 
heard  she  sometimes  has  rooms  to  let ;  and  as  we  may 
stay  here  some  time,  I  prefer  going  there  to  living  at  an 
hotel." 

He  would  conduct  them  to  the  widow  Limet's,  he  said ; 
i3 


410  HESTER    .MOKLEY'S   PROMISE. 

and  they  followed  him,  Hester  recognizing  the  place  from 
the  minute  and  frequent  descriptions  of  Lawson's  mother. 
Here  were  the  shops,  with  their  odd  miscellan}'  of  wares, 
the  cafes  painted  in  gay  colors,  the  butchers'  open  stalls 
with  their  dwarf  orange-trees  and  flowers,  all  of  which 
I\Iadame  had  loved  to  contrast  with  the  dingy  streets  of 
Little  Aston.  Towards  one  corner  of  the  square,  five  or 
six  of  the  shops,  having  their  upper  floor  projecting  above 
them  for  eight  feet  or  more,  were  as  cool  and  almost  as 
dark  as  cellars.  At  one  of  these  their  conductor  stopped, 
and  called  aloud  for  the  widow  Limet,  who  appeared  from 
some  inner  recess,  and  engaged  at  once  in  a  combat  of 
words  with  the  guide,  so  garrulous  and  voluble,  that  Hes- 
ter could  not  put  in  a  syllable  for  some  tim.e. 

"  We  have  been  recommended  to  you,"  she  said,  recol- 
lecting how  often  Lawson's  mother  had  urged  her  to  go  to 
Burgundy.  "  My  fixther  and  I  want  some  rooms  for  several 
months.  He  cannot  speak  French.  Will  you  let  us  look 
at  your  apartments  ?  " 

The  widow  Limet  led  the  way  up  stairs  to  the  room 
projecting  over  the  shop, — an  odd  place  to  English  eyes. 
The  walls  had  been  stencilled  in  gaudy  colors  and  gro- 
tesque designs.  The  uncaj'peted  tloor  had  been  waxed 
and  brushed  to  a  dangerous  polish.  A  bed,  with  red  cot- 
ton hangings,  stood  in  a  recess,  but  the  rest  of  the  furni- 
ture was  evidently  intended  to  serve  for  a  sitting  room. 
A  closet  opened  out  of  it  containing  a  smaller  bed,  which 
Hester  decided  would  do  very  well  for  herself.  The 
accommodation  was  simple  but  inexpensive;  eight  fran:s 
a  week,  with  attendance,  being  the  rent  the  widow  Lin  et 
asked  for  it. 

In  a  short  time  John  Morley  and  Hester  were  seated 
a;  the  centre  table,  with  an  mipromptu  meal  before  them 
of  omelettes   and   dried   frui; ',.  and   cherries  such   as  aie 


A    CITY    OF    REFUGE.  4II 

never  to  be  tasted  in  England.  John  Morley  ate  heartily, 
but  in  vague  amazement.  The  elderly  voluble  French- 
woman trotting  in  and  out  with  some  utterly  foreign  dish 
in  her  hand,  and  an  unintelligible  jargon  upon  her  tongue; 
the  bottles  of  wine  she  brought  in,  which  she  held  up  be- 
tween his  eyes  and  the  light  that  he  might  see  the  golden 
bubbles  imprisoned  in  them  ;  the  ease  with  which  Hester 
understood  and  answered  ;  all  was  odd  and  inexplicable, 
but  he  would  give  himself  up  to  it.  There  was  something 
terrible  in  the  past  over  which  a  thick  curtain  had  fallen  ; 
and  he  would  not  lift  it  so  long  as  it  would  hang  there 
undisturbed. 

That  night  Hester  slept  a  heavy,  dreamless  sleep, — 
the  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion,  when  the  brain  slumbers  as 
profoundly  as  the  body.  Nature  exacted  this  repose  rig- 
orously;  and  now  that  the  immediate  strain  was  over, 
now  that  the  walls  of  the  city  encompassed  them  about, 
Hester  could  yield  herself  to  it.  She  slept  far  into  the 
next  day;  and  found,  when  she  awoke,  her  father  sitting 
at  her  side,  watching  her  with  the  care  and  tenderness  of 
a  mother. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

SATURDAY   NIGHT. 

ON  zTie  Saturday  evening,  when  John  Morley  was  flee- 
ing in  a  panic  of  fear  from  his  own  home  and  town, 
he  had  scarcely  passed  the  chapel  before  Madame  Lawson 
emerged  from  the  narrow  alley  opposite  to  it.  It  was 
quite  dusk,  a  season  which  the  old  foreigner  preferred  fos 
her  walks,  in  consequence,  as  she  said,  of  the  impoliteness 
of  the  English  boys,  who  generally  hailed  her  appearance 
with  numerous  rough  greetings.  She  had  left  her  son 
comfortably  settled  for  the  night,  with  jDermission  to  sleep 
in  her  own  bed,  which  preserved  its  air  of  state  in  the  Eng 
lish  garret.  She  knocked  in  vain  for  some  time  at  John 
Morley's  house-door,  but  at  last  she  tried  the  handle,  which 
turned  readily  in  her  grasp.  It  was  very  quiet  w^ithin,  but 
a  light  was  shining  in  the  inner  room,  and  she  proceeded 
there  boldly.  It  was  John  Morley's  lamp  burning  as  he 
had  left  it,  and  shedding  its  accustomed  gleam  upon  the 
books  scattered  around  it.  Madame  puckered  her  eye- 
brows, and  hummed  a  little  song,  but  no  voice  or  sound 
answered  her.  She  took  up  the  lamp  and  went  into  the 
kitchen  ;  all  was  quiet  and  orderly  there  as  the  servant  had 
left  it,  with  the  fire  almost  dead  in  the  bottom  of  the  grate. 
Up  stairs,  with  the  lamp  still  in  her  hands,  for  it  was  quite 
dark  now  inside  the  house,  proceeded  Madame,  peering 
through  each  open  door  as  she  passed  it.  No  one  was  to 
be  seen.     Where  then  was  monsieur  ;  and  where  was  the 


SATURDAY    NIGHT.  4;:! 

servant?  She  could  not  have  held  any  conversation  with 
either  of  them,  but  she  wished  to  see  their  faces  and  make 
her  salutation  to  them.  The  still  solitude  daunted  her; 
and  she  crossed  herself  several  times,  muttering  a  little 
prayer,  as  she  had  hummed  a  tune  down  stairs.  There 
was  another  door  open  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  and  she 
went  on  towards  it.  A  faint  scent  of  mould  and  mildew 
met  her,  like  the  air  from  a  vault.  Upon  the  bare  planks 
she  was  treading  there  were  spots  of  blood,  but  her  eves 
did  not  detect  dif  m.  She  entered  the  room,  and  looked 
around  her.  There,  upon  the  sofa,  lay  a  woman,  perfectly 
motionless,  with  a  shawl  laid  over  her.  Madame,  frighten- 
ed now,  but  brave  with  the  courage  of  old  age,  approached 
her,  and  raised  the  covering  from  her  face. 

A  marble  face  icy  cold,  with  rigid  lips  and  frozen  eye- 
lids ;  the  hands  also  chilly  and  numb.  Yet  to  her  experi- 
enced touch, — for  in  her  station  an  aged  woman  has  felt 
the  clay  cold  frigidity  of  death  too  often  to  be  easily  de- 
ceived,— tliere  was  still  a  degree  of  warmth  which  spoke  of 
life  lingering  about  the  heart.  She  saw  quickly  that  there 
was  little  which  she  could  do,  and  that  immediate  help  was 
necessary  ;  but  how  could  ^he  make  any  one  understand 
that  she  wanted  Mr.  Grant  called  in  ?  Her  shrewdness, 
a  French  subtlety  which  made  her  keen  at  scenting  any 
intrigue,  recoiled  from  the  idea  of  bringing  this  incident 
before  the  public  if  it  could  be  avoided.  She  raised  Rose's 
head  a  little,  put  a  drop  or  two  of  eau  dc  vL\  which  she 
carried  about  her,  into  her  mouth  ;  and  then  locking  the 
front  door  carefully,  to  provide  against  any  other  intrusion 
like  her  own,  she  hastened  as  quickly  as  she  could  to 
Grant's  house. 

Fortunately  for  the  explanation  of  her  errand,  slie  saw, 
upon  approaching  the  house,  Robert  Waldron  standing  at 
the  gate,  in  conversation  with  Grant.     The  twilight  had  not 


414  HKSTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

quite  fiided  here  outside  of  the  town,  and  a  soft,  exquisite 
tranquillity,  the  indescribable  sense  of  repose  which  can 
only  exist  at  the  end  of  the  week,  before  the  dawn  of  a  day 
of  rest  and  truce  with  labor,  pervaded  the  whole  evening 
scene.  Within  the  house  Annie  was  just  kindling  a  light, 
and  she  could  be  seen,  with  her  bright  face,  leaning  over 
the  new  flame  in  the  lamp.  Robert  had  just  looked  in, 
and  sighed  to  himself  as  he  talked  with  Grant,  whose  lot 
seemed  so  much  more  enviable  than  his  own,  when  Madame 
threw  herself  upon  his  arm,  and  poured  forth  her  hurried 
story,  which  came  like  a  crash  of  thunder  upon  him. 

"  Good  heavens  I  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Grant,  as 
Robert  reeled  and  caught  at  the  gate  to  keep  himself  from 
falfing. 

"  He  has  discovered  her  and  murdered  her  !  "  gasped 
Robert.  "  Come  ;  there  is  life  yet,  she  says.  Be  quick, 
Grant.     Come  with  me  instantly." 

He  had  recovered  himself  while  he  was  speaking,  and 
darted  off  at  full  speed  down  the  street,  followed  by 
Grant,  who  knew  no  more  of  what  had  taken  place  than  the 
few  incoherent  words  of  Robert  conveyed  to  him.  They 
had  to  wait  a  few  minutes  at  the  door,  and  then  Robert, 
still  wildly  and  wanderingly,  told  him  what  Madame  had 
said, — that  a  woman  lay  nearly  dead  in  the  house,  and  that 
neither  John  Morley  nor  Hester  were  to  be  found.  She 
was  almost  murdered,  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  of  extreme 
terror  ;  and  what  would  become  of  him  and  Hester  ? 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  opened,  Robert  strode  through 
the  house  into  the  couit  beyond,  and  up  the  staircase  to 
the  loft,  where  he  expected  to  find  Rose.  The  poor  place 
was  empty  ;  the  window  had  been  left  open,  and  the  wind 
was  flapping  the  curtain  to  and  frogayly,  and  fluttering  the 
leaves  of  an  open  book  upon  the  window-sill.  He  turned 
away  from  it  with  the  last  gleam  of  self-complacency  faded 


SATURDAY    N^iU  T.  415 

from  his  face.  Grant,  who  had  followed  him  closely,  had 
already  descended  into  the  court,  and  was  obeying  the  ve- 
hement gesticulations  of  Madame.  Robert  could  not  stay 
behind.  An  irresistible  iinpulse  carried  him  on  to  see  the 
thing  he  dreaded  ;  though,  Ukt  one  running  swiftly  down 
hill,  he  might  be  about  to  cast  himseli  into  some  gulf  which 
would  swallow  him  up  in  hopuless  remorse.  He  overtook 
Grant  at  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  and  thrust  him 
roughly  on  one  side.  The  lamp  burned  brightly,  revealing 
to  him  the  scene  he  had  so  often  looked  upon.  He  saw 
the  room  as  Rose  had  seen  it.  His  glove  lying  upon  the 
table  ;  the  open  piano  with  the  music  upon  it ;  Hester's  lit- 
tle seat  beside  his  chair.  And  there  lay  Rose  upon  her 
sofii,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over  her,  looking  as  if  she  slept. 
He  trod  softly  nearer  to  her,  and  stood  beside  her,  not 
heeding  in  his  profound  abstraction  how  solemn  and  silent 
Grant  was.  Her  attitude  was  peaceful,  full  of  rest  and 
quiet ;  the  hair  half  hiding  her  face  from  his  sight.  But  he 
could  not  stir,  and  when  he  tried  to  speak,  his  voice  was 
hollow  and  yiarticulate.  He  would  have  sacrificed  his  own 
life  gladly  at  that  instant  to  recall  her  to  the  life  and  liappi- 
ness  she  had  forfeited. 

How  long  he  stood  there,  he  did  no*^  know  :  but  at  length 
Grant  put  him  aside  gently,  and  lifted  up  the  tangled  and 
matted  hair  with  his  hand.  There  was  the  wound  ;  a  stroke 
like  that  which  had  nearly  slain  hirn  had  fallen  upon  her  as 
well.  "  This  was  his  work,"  said  his  conscience,  so  long 
dethroned,  but  now  asserting  itself  with  mightier  tyranny. 
He  looked  into  Grant's  face,  and  shuddered  at  the  expres- 
sion upon  it. 

"  She  is  not  quite  dead,  my  poor  fellow,"  said  Grant; 
pityingly  ;  "  you  recovered  from  a  severer  blow  ;  but  she  is 
a  woman,  and  delicate.     We  must  not  hope  too  much." 

For  some  time  thev  were  busv  about  the  almost  lifeless 


4l6  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

form  ;  Robert  obeying  mechanically  the  directions  of  Grant 
and  translating  his  orders  to  the  Frenchwoman.  They 
carried  Rose  to  Hester's  bedroom,  and  laid  her  upon  her 
bed.  When  all  was  done  wh'ch  Grant  could  do,  he  went 
down  stairs  with  Robert  into  John  Morley's  parlor. 

"You  know  who  she  is,"  said  Robert,  avoiding  Grant's 
eye. 

"  I  have  guessed,''  answered  Grant,  briefly. 

"  He  must  Iiave  found  her,"'  continued  Robert.  "  Hes- 
ter sheltered  her  here  without  his  knowledge.  I  only  knew 
of  it  while  he  was  ill  a  few  weeks  ago.  But  where  can  they 
be  gone  to  ?  " 

"They  have  made  their  escape,"  answered  Grant; 
"yet  it  can  only  be  by  an  hour  or  two  at  the  utmost. 
Must  we  pursue  them." 

"  Pursue  them  ! ''  ejaculated  Robert ;  "  what  for  ?  Good 
God !  what  are  we  to  do?  If  we  bring  him  back,  and  she 
dies—"" 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  but  sank  down  into 
John  Morley's  chair,  looking  up  to  Grant  with  a  face  as 
haggard  as  that  of  the  man  he  had  wronged. 

"  If  she  dies,  he  may  be  punished  as  a  murderer,"  said 
Grant ;  '•  but  living  and  escaping,  he  is  a  madman,  and  he 
takes  Hester  with  him  !  He  is  mad, —  I  could  swear  to  it  j 
and  he  has  Hester  in  his  power."* 

A  miserable  silence  fell  upon  them  both  as  they  turned 
over  in  their  minds  the  wretched  alternative  presented  to 
them.  The  life  of  Rose  hung  upon  a  thread  which  might 
snap  at  any  moment ;  and  to  bring  back  John  Morley, 
whether  she  lived  or  died,  would  be  to  subject  him  to  a 
criminal  prosecution,  in  which  he  could  r.ct  fail  to  be  found 
guilty.  As  yet  the  secret  was  their  own,  and  could  be 
confined  to  very  few, — themselves,  Annie,  Lawson's  mother, 
and  Lawson  himself,  perhaps,  who  was  devoted  *o  John 


SAILUUAV    NIGHT.  .  417 

Morley.  The  most  imminent  dan2:er  to  Rose  would  be 
over  during  the  next  twenty-four  hours;  and  until  then,  U 
being  Sunday^  John  Morley's  flight  would  remain  unknown 
and  unsuspected  by  his  townspeople.  He  would  have 
time  to  make  good  his  escape.  But  on  the  ether  hand,  if 
they  let  him  go,  they  left  Hester  in  his  power,  under  the 
control  of  a  madman,  at  the  very  m.oment  when  he  was 
most  frenzied  by  his  recent  act  of  vengeance.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  leave  her  thus.  A  flood  of  passionate 
tenderness  swept  across  the  tempest  of  remorse  and 
anguish  on  which  Robert  Waldron  was  tossed.  He  would 
have  been  willing  to  give  her  into  the  charge  and  protection 
of  Carl  himself,  if  by  that  he  could  only  be  sure  that  she 
was  sate  and,  at  last,  happy. 

"Ought  vve  not  to  tell  your  father?"  asked  Grant. 
"  He  is  a  magistiate,  and  we  should  incur  great  responsi- 
bility by  keeping  this  matter  secret  Suppose  she  should 
die  T" 

"  We  mus'.  run  the  risk,"'  answered  Robert,  after  a 
moment's  consideration  ;  "  I  will  shield  you  if  any  blame 
comes  to  us.  No,  no  ;  if  we  tell  my  father,  his  dutv  as  a 
magistrate  would  be  to  send  in  pursuit  of  John  Morley. 
Grant,  we  must  let  him  get  off;  but  for  Hester's  sake,  1 
must  follow  them  m\self."' 

"Where  would  they  be  likely  to  go.''"  said  Grant. 
"  Hester  has  never  been  away  from  Little  Aston,  and  he 
has  not  stirred  out  of  it  for  yeais.  Let  us  look  about  ar.d 
see  if  we  can  find  any  clue." 

"  And  then  I  will  go  down  to  the  station,"  added 
Robert. 

They  went  up  stairs  to  John  Morley's  bedroom.  Every 
thing  there  bore  the  marks  of  confusion  and  haste.  The 
drawers  were  left  partly  open,  and  the  clothes  in  them  were 
tossed  about.     Those  wl.ich  I'cse  liad  l:nd  out  for  the  next 


41 8  HKSTER    MORLEY'S    I'ROMISi:. 

day  still  lay  neatly  folded  upon  a  chair  by  the  bedside. 
The  basin  was  half-full  of  crimsoned  water,  and  there  were 
stains  of  blood  upon  the  dressing-table.  No  doubt  had 
existed  in  their  minds  before  as  to  who  had  been  guilty, 
and  everything  there  fastened  the  crime  upon  John  Morley. 
But  they  could  discover  no  trace  of  flight  about  Hester's 
room.  There  all  was  maidenly  order  ;  a  delicate,  innocent, 
girlish  harmony,  which  it  had  seemed  almost  sacrilege  to 
disturb  when  they  had  laid  Rose  upon  her  bed. 

"  I  will  go  down  to  the  station,"  repeated  Robert. 

It  was  growing  late  by  this  time,  and  only  two  night- 
porters  were  about  the  station.  They  had  seen  no  one  ; 
had  not  been  there  during  the  day.  He  turned  back  again, 
disappointed  and  cast  down.  Grant  wanted  him  to  go  up 
to  his  house  to  tell  Annie  he  should  be  away  all  night,  and 
to  bring  his  case  of  instruments.  He  was  about  starting, 
when  Madame,  who  had  been  wonderfully  silent,  ventured 
to  ask  a  question. 

"  Where  then  is  monsieur  ? "'  she  inquired. 

'*  I  don't  know,"  answered  Robert ;  "  I  wish  to  know ; 
and  where  Hester  is,  too." 

"  Oh,  the  little  one  is  gone  to  London,"  answered 
Madame;  "she  set  out  at  midday.  That  is  why  I  find 
myself  here.  I  come  to  watch  the  house  while  mademoi- 
selle is  away." 

Here  was  a  new  element  of  myster}'  and  perplexity. 
Hester  had  gone  many  hours  before  John  Morley  could 
have  wreaked  his  long-cherished  vengeance  upon  Rose. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  had  acted  upon  a  premeditated 
purpose,  instead  of  having  been  hurried  into  the  crime  by 
the  impulse  and  frenzy  of  the  moment?  And  upon  what 
pretext  could  he  have  sent  Hester  on  to  London  ?  If  she 
were  gone  there,  Robert's  jealousy  assured  him  that  she 
would  go  to  Carl. 


SATURDAY    MCITT.  4I9 

"Grant,"  he  said,  '■  I  will  start  fur  London  by  ;he  irat 
tiain  to-morrow."' 

He  went  at  once  after  thnt  to  Grant's  house,  and 
returned  with  the  articles  he  needed.  All  through  the 
long  night  he  watched,  with  Grant  and  Madame,  by  the 
side  of  Rose,  whose  fate  swung  slowly  from  life  to  death, 
and  from  death  to  life  again,  as  hour  after  hour  crept 
sluggishly  by.  To  Grant  there  was  stimulus  in  it ;  the 
keen  interest  he  felt  in  the  triumph  or  failui'e  of  his  skill  , 
and  Madame,  in  almost  unbroken  ignorance,  and  only  with 
a  few  cunning  guesses  as  to  the  truth,  looked  en  with 
nearly  equal  excitement.  But  to  Robert  it  was  a  night  ct" 
slow  martyrdom  ;  of  a  crucifixion  of  his  whole  nature. 
His  old  love  for  Rose,  his  new  love  for  Hester,  his  easy 
good-nature,  his  selfish  repugnance  to  witness  any  suffering, 
his  memory  of  the  past,  his  dread  of  the  future,— all  were 
compassing  him  about,  and  there  was  no  refuge,  nor  any 
one  to  deliver  him. 

The  morning  came  and  found  him  a  changed  man. 
Grant  looked  into  his  face,  and  the  tears  started  to  his  eyes. 
'He  pressed  his  hand  hard  in  his  own,  but  he  could  speak 
^no  word  of  consolation.  Rose  still  lingered  on  the  edge 
'of  the  open  gra\'e,  and  might  be  swallowed  up  in  it  before 
'he  could  reach  London  ;  but  it  was  best  that  he  hl.fnild  go. 
'They  parted  in  silence,  and  with  a  heait  l.r.wtd  t'ov.n, 
Robert  Waidron  set  cut  on  his  journey. 

There  were  (wo  trains  starting  nearly  at  the  same  time, 
run  by  difierent  companies.  Robert,  caririg  nothing  by 
;  which  he  went,  started  by  the  first,  which  was  detainctl 
*upon  the  road  by  a  trifling  accident  to  the  engine.  The 
second  took  up  John  Morley  on  its  route  at  a  station 
farther  on;  and  thus,  by  the  merest  accident  in  the  world 
Robert  missed  meeting. with  the  man  whom  he  was  pur- 
suins. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

NO    Cl.UE. 

IT  was  six  o'clock  when  the  train  reached  the  London 
terminus,  and  Robert  knew  that  Carl  would  certainly 
be  at  his  chapel.  He  was  the  only  person  known  to  Hester, 
and  therefore  it  was  to  him  that  he  must  go  for  any  chance 
of  information.  He  called  a  cab,  and  bade  the  driver 
drive  as  quickly  as  he  could  to  the  chapel  ;  but  the  service 
had  already  begun  when  they  arrived  at  it.  In  no  mood 
to  present  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  congregation,  Robert 
found  his  way  to  the  vestry,  and  waited  there  in  growing 
impatience  for  the  conclusion  of  the  service.  The  dooi 
was  open,  and  he  could  hear  every  word  uttered  by  Carl's 
clear  voice,  so  modulated  and  varied  that  commonplace 
words  took  almost  a  tone  of  eloquence  from  it.  He  was 
preaching  concernuig  temptation  ;  and  Robert's  bruised 
spirit  felt  more  deeply  wounded  by  it.  What  did  this  boy, 
with  his  pure,  unsullied  life,  his  soul  which  had  never  be- 
trayed its  own  ideal,  know  of  temptation,  or  of  sin  ?  At 
length  the  torture  was  ended.  Carl  pronounced  the  last 
soothing  benediction  ;  and  in  a  minute  or  two  afterwards 
entered  his  vestry. 

On  his  part,  when  Carl's  eyes  fell  upon  Robert,  he 
started  back  with  a  momentary  disquiet  and  apprehension. 
He  looked  worn  and  ill.  The  terrible  scene  of  the  past 
night  had  made  him  utterly  regardless  of  those  small,  mi- 
nute cares  as  to  his  appearance,  which  had  invariably  oc- 


NO   CLL  ii.  421 

cupied  him  hitherto.  He  had  not  slept  at  all  ;  and  he  had 
suffered  horribly.  The  years,  which  had  seemed  to  pass 
over  him  leaving  no  trace,  had  been  graving  secret  lines 
upod  his  features,  which  now  stni  ted  out  in  strong  relief, 
ageing  him  abruptly.  Carl  fancied,  as  he  stood  by  the 
window,  with  the  light  falling  upon  his  head,  that  he  could 
see  a  faint  tinge  of  white,  a  shining  line  of  silver  here  and 
there  among  his  disordered  hair.  They  had  not  parted  as 
friends  ;  and  they  knew  each  other  to  be  rivals.  Carl 
closed  the  door,  and  locked  it  against  any  intruder  ;  and 
then  waited  for  Robert  to  speak. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  Hester?"  asked  Robert, 
approaching  him,  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Hester  !  no  ! "  answered  Carl,  in  amazement  and 
alarm.     "  What  is  the  matter  with  her?  " 

"  She  came  up  to  London  yesterday,"  said  Robert ; 
"  and  I  made  sure  you  would  know  where  she  is.  She  had 
no  one  to  go  to  but  you.  For  God's  sake,  Carl !  do  not 
hide  from  me  anything  about  her.  I  only  ask  to  know  that 
she  is  safe  ;  that  you  are  taking  care  of  her.  I  will  not 
ask  to  see  her.  I  give  her  up  to  you  altogether.  Only  re- 
move my  anxiety.  Tell  me  that  you  have  found  some  safe 
home  for  her.'' 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her,"  cried  Carl,  in  anxiety 
equal  to  his  own.  "What  do  you  mean?  Is  not  Hestei 
at  home  with  her  father  ?  " 

"  They  are  neither  of  them  at  home,"  he  answered. 
"  Hester  came  to  London  by  the  twelve  o'clock  train  from 
Little  Aston,  yesterday  ;  and  her  father  fled  last  night." 

"  Fled  !  "  echoed  Carl,  his  heart  sinking  within  him. 

"  He  has  murdered  Rose,"  continued  Robert,  hurried- 
ly ;  "and  I  am  in  pursuit  of  him.  Not  to  give  him  up; 
no,  but  to  save  Hester.  He  is  mad,  Carl  ;  and  what  can 
she  do  with  a  madman  ?     What  can  we  do  ?     Have  you  no 


422  HKSTER    MORLKV  S    PK<3MI;-i:. 

clue  at  all  to  the  motive  that  brought  her  up  here  ?  My 
only  hope  was  in  you." 

''  '•  Stop  !  '"  he  exclaimed,  as  a  sudden  light  flashed  across 
him  ;  "  siie  \^\iA  have  come  to  see  little  Hester.  I  wrote 
on  Thursday  to  tell  her  about  the  child  ;  and  she  must 
have  made  up  her  mind  to  come  and  see  her.  She  is  very 
ill." 

li  it  had  been  possible  for  Robert's  face  to  grow  more 
pallid,  it  would  have  done  so  at  these  words, — a  stray  shaft 
shot  at  random  by  Carl,  whose  thoughts  were  too  full  of 
Hester  to  remember  that  he  had  betrayed  a  secret  which 
he  was  pledged  to  keep.  He  was  in  haste  to  be  gone,  to 
hurry  to  the  school  where  the  child  lived,  in  order  to 
make  inquiries  there.  Neither  of  them  knew  by  how  small 
and  trilling  a  chance  Hester  had  missed  breaking  in  upon 
their  interview. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  asked  Robert,  as  Carl  open- 
ed the  outer  door  of  the  vestry. 

"Where.''"  exclaimed  Carl,  impetuously:  "to  find 
Hester.  We  must  find  her  to-night.  Did  you  not  say  her 
father  is  a  madman,  and  has  murdered  Rose?  Find  her? 
Can  I  take  any  rest  or  sleep  until  she  is  safe  ?  Yet  God 
has  her  in  His  safe  keeping  !  " 

He  said  these  last  words  with  a  half  sob,  and  raised  his 
hand  to  his  eyes  for  an  instant.  Then  he  turned  towards 
Robert  with  a  glance  of  profound  and  unutterable  trouble. 

"  You  may  come  with  me,  if  you  choose,"  he  contin- 
ued ;  "  I  am  going  to  see  Rose  Morley's  child." 

Robert  followed  him  mechanically^  his  head  reeling 
and  his  limbs  tottering.  Carl  saw  it,  and  drew  his  arm 
through  his  own,  pressing  it  to  his  side  with  an  earnest 
pressure.  Whatever  his  own  anxiety  and  terror  might  be, 
it  could  not  equal  in  anguish  and  intensity  that  of  Robert 
Waldron. 


NO    CLUE.  423 

Thov  reached  the  poor,  clingy  house,  in  which  his  chilci 
Hvecl  ;  and  the  over-worked  servant  opened  the  door  lo 
tiiein.  They  had  been  expecting  Mr.  Bramwell  and  the 
young  lady  for  some  time,  she  said.  No,  the  young  lady 
had  not  come  back  yet.  She  had  been  there  all  day,  nurs- 
ing little  Miss  Hester,  but  she  had  left  her  in  the  evening 
to  go  to  Mr.  Bramwell's  chapel,  promising  to  return  as 
soon  as  she  could.  She  had  gone  to  the  chapel,  she  was 
sure,  for  she  had  sent  her  own  little  sister  to  take  her  to  the 
very  door,  where  the  young  lady  had  gone  in  before  she 
came  away. 

Carl  and  Robert  looked  at  one  another  in  mingled 
relief  and  wonder.  They  had  traced  Hester's  movements 
up  to  the  last  half-hour ;  for  if  she  had  gone  into  the 
chapel,  no  doubt  she  had  remained  there  till  the  end  of  the 
service.  To  be  separated  from  her  by  no  more  than  half 
an  hour  seemed  a  small  thing.  She  would  be  coming  in 
soon  ;  perhaps  she  had  missed  her  way  a  little.  They 
•ngered  on  the  doorstep,  looking  up  the  street,  until  the 
girl  asked  if  they  wished  to  see  the  child,  who  would  be 
glad  enough  of  a  visit  from  Mr.  Bramwell. 

"  Let  me  see  her,  Carl,"'  said  Robert,  entreatingly ; 
''she  need  know  nothing  about  me.  If  you  have  any  pity 
for  me  in  this  hour,  let  me  see  her."' 

Carl  hesitated  for  a  moment;  yet  feow  could  he  refuse.' 
What  right  had  he  to  keep  him  away  from  her,  when  h',.r 
mother  was  dead.  For  he  had  understood  from  Robert's 
hurried  explanation  that  Rose  v.'as  already  dead.  I'e 
answered  by  a  silent  gesture  to  accompany  him  ;  and  both 
of  them  followed  the  servant  to  the  room  where  the  child 
lay. 

The  little  girl  had  been  raised  upon  her  pillov^'s,  and 
sat  with  an  eager  face  turned  towards  the  door,  listening  to 
their  approaching  footsteps.     Carl  was  the  tirst  to  enter, 


424  HESTER    MURLKV'S    IMUJMISE. 

and  Robert  staid  behind,  in  the  background,  looking  on 
with  a  new  sorrow  in  his  heart.  The  face,  a  small,  refined, 
pitrician  face,  which  had  lost  the  look  of  childhood,  was 
that  of  his  mother  in  a  miniature  portrait  she  had  given  to 
hi;n  when  she  was  dying.  He  knew  it  well,  for  in  his  boy- 
hood he  had  studied  the  miniature  by  heart.  But  the  child 
was  speaking,  and  he  coukl  not  bear  to  lose  a  word  she 
said.  She  belonged  to  him.  If  Rose  were  dead,  there 
was  no  other  being  in  the  world  who  bore  any  relationship 
to  this  forlorn  little  creature. 

"  Hester  has  been  here  all  day,"  she  said  ;  "  the  good, 
dear  Hester  that  I'm  named  after.  We  love  one  another 
ever  so  !  She  said  she'd  come  back  with  you,  and  stay  all 
night  with  me.  Why  did  you  not  bring  her,  Mr.  Bram- 
well  ?  " 

•'  She  will  be  here  very  soon,''  answered  Carl. 

"  She  says  my  mother  is  living  with  her  in  bet  house," 
continued  Hester,  in  her  plaintive  and  sweet  voice  ;  "  and 
she  knew"  my  father,  when  she  was  a  little  girl  like  me. 
She  loved  him  then,  and  he  used  to  nurse  her  on  his 
knees.  But  he  never  nursed  me.  He  was  dead  before  I 
was  born." 

"  Dpn"t  think  about  it,  my  little  Hester,"  said  Carl, 
soothingly. 

"But  I'm  always  thinking  of  it,"  she  answered, 
"  because  if  he  hadn't  died,  we  should  all  have  lived 
together  somewhere;  and  I  should  have  had  my  holidays, 
like  other  children  They  say  there  are  worse-off  little  girls 
in  the  streets  ;  but  they  have  all  got  homes,  and  mothers 
and  fathers ;  and  I  have  nobody,  no  home,  and  no  father, 
and  no  one  but  my  mother,  who  is  so  very  poor  she  can 
scarcely  ever  come  to  see  me.  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  die,  if 
God  pleases." 

"  Suppose  your  father  had  not  died  !  "  said  Carl. 


NO  ci.Li;.  425 

"  Oh,  how  I  would  have  loved  him  !  "  she  cried,  clasp- 
ing her  small  hands  together.  '"Perhaps  he  would  have 
played  with  me  sometimes !  It  would  not  have  mattered 
then  how  poor  we  were,  if  we  had  only  lived  together. 
The  other  Hester  said  he  used  to  be  very  fond  of  little 
children,  and  he  would  have  been  sure  to  have  loved  me 
the  most.  Hester  cannot  tell  whether  he  will  know  I  am 
his  little  girl  in  heaven." 

Robert  stood  by  and  listened.  Every  word  was  full  of 
heart-breaking  sorrow  to  him  ;  yet  the  calmness  and  ten- 
derness of  this  little  child  soothed  him.  He  leaned  his 
arm  against  the  door-post,  and  rested  his  head  upon  it, 
weeping  bitterly.  His  child  heard  him,  and  turned  eager- 
ly again  towards  the  door. 

'•  There  is  somebody  there,"'  she  said ;  "  and  they  are 
crying.  Who  is  it,  Mr.  Bramwell  ?  Don't  leave  them 
alone  in  the  dark.     Let  them  come  in  here." 

it  was  no  more  than  a  step  or  two  to  her  side,  and 
Robert's  failing  feet  trod  them.  He  sank  down  beside  her, 
as  Hester  had  done  in  the  morning,  and  hid  his  face  in  her 
pillov/,  while  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head  timidly,  yet 
fondly. 

'•  Don't  cry,"  she  said  ;  "  I'm  not  going  to  die  just  yet ; 
and  if  I  do  die  I  shall  go  to  heaven  and  have  my  holidays. 
I  don't  know  who  you-are  ;  but  I  don't  like  to  see  you  cry- 
ing for  me." 

"Kiss  me,  little  Hetty,"'  he  sobbed;  and  she  laid  her 
lips  shyly  upon  his  cheek,  while  he  threw  his  arm  round 
her  with  a  passionate  clasp. 

'•  Tell  me,'"  he  said  ;  "  where  you  ha\e  been  living  all 
this  time,  my  little  girl  ?'' 

"  I  have  been  all  my  life  long  at  school,"  she  answered, 
pensively  -,  '•  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I  belong  to  no- 
body " 


426  llKSTLk    M0RLE\"S    Tl^OMISE. 

"  Nobody  !  "  echoed  Robert,  in  a  voice  as  troubled  as 
her  own. 

"Nobody,  except  my  mother,"    she  conlinui.d,    "and 
she  is  very  poor,  and  always  full  of  trouble.     The  other 
4  Hester  says  she  is  going  to  take  me  away  somewhere,  and 
rf,  make  me  veiy,  very  happy.     But  it  is  too  late  now." 

"  Too  late  I  "  repeated  Robert,  dropping  his  head  again 
upon  the  pillow.  She  lay  still  and  exhausted,  her  arm 
resting  upon  his  neck ;  and  Carl  did  not  break  the  silence. 
What  could  he  say  that  would  be  better  than  this  silence  ? 
It  was  Robert  who  first  looked  up,  and  spoke. 

"But  she  does  not  come,  Carl,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
undiminished  anxiet}'.  Carl  was  waiting,  straining  his  ears 
to  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice  in  the  house  below.  The 
time  was  fast  getting  on,  and  the  night  was  drawing  near. 
Could  she  have  lost  herself  in  the  streets  of  London .'' 
Where  too  was  John  Morley,  who  had  been  missing  since 
this  time  the  night  bet'ore  ?  They  were  compelled  to  leave 
the  child,  inconsolable  because  Hester  was  not  come 
back,  and  start  afresh  upon  their  vague  search.  They 
did  not  know  where  she  had  passed  the  last  night ;  or 
whether  she  knew  any  one  in  London.  There  was  no  clue, 
no  track.  She  had  been  near  to  them  both  only  an  hour 
or  two  ago,  but  they  had  not  seen  her.  She  might  be  close 
beside  them  still. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

ANOTHER   HESTER. 

AT  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  Carl  and  Robert 
went  again  to  the  boarding-school  to  inquire  if  any- 
thing had  been  heard  of  Hesler.  Upon  receiving  an 
answer  in  the  negative,  they  did  not  know  what  further 
steps  to  take.  They  sent  a  telegram  to  Grant,  cautiously 
worded  :  ''We  have  had  no  success.  Is  there  any  change 
or  any  news  V  The  answer  returned  in  the  name  of  Annie 
Grant,  by  which  they  became  aware  that  she  shared  the 
secret,  was,  "No  change  here,  and  no  news."  It  reached 
ihem  soon  after  midday  on  Monday.  After  this  they  visited 
the  two  railway  stations  at  which  John  Morley  could  have 
arrived,  and  made  some  cautious  inquiries  ;  but  they  could 
gain  no  explicit  information.  At  present  they  could  not 
resolve  to  set  a  detective  to  seek  him  out.  While  Rose 
continued  in  so  precarious  a  state,  they  dare  not  let  any 
clue  to  the  criminal  slip  out  of  their  own  hands.  They 
could  not  believe  it  possible  that  they  had  left  London  ; 
for  both  John  Morley  and  Hester  would  be  as  inexperi- 
enced as  children,  with  regard  to  any  journey,  or  any 
scheme  of  flight.  Carl  hoped  every  hour  that  they  vvould 
be  found  at  his  lodgings  ;  and  tliey  returned  again  and 
again  to  them  to  see  if  they  had  not  arrived  there. 

On  the  Tuesday  morning,  Robert,  who  could  no  longer 
endure  the  suspense  about  Rose,  determined  to  return  to 
Little  Aston,  leaving  Carl  to  continue  his  wary  but  close 


4  28  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

inquiries  in  London.  He  reached  the  little  town  in  the 
afternoon,  and  though  he  dare  not  lei  himself  be  seen 
knocking  at  John  Morle}  's  door,  which  would  have  attract- 
ed the  attention  of  the  neighbors,  he  could  not  resist  going 
past  the  house.  It  looked  just  as  usual.  The  closed 
shutters  of  Rose's  drawing-room  were  still  closed  ;  but 
what  surprised  and  startled  him  the  most  was  to  see  the 
shop  open,  as  if  John  Morley  were  quietly  pursuing  h'S 
ordinary  business.  He  crossed  over  quickly,  and  peered 
in  through  the  windows,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  w^iih- 
ered  face,  which  glared  back  upon  him  with  tigerish  eyes. 
The  mystery  was  explained  as  soon  as  he  reached  Grant's 
house.  Grant  had  resolved  to  keep  the  townsijeople  in 
the  dark  as  long  as  possible,  and  upon  Monday  morning 
he  had  installed  Lawson  behind  the  counter,  bidding  him 
do  his  best  there  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  few  cus- 
tomers. It  was  generally  reported  through  the  town  that 
Joi:n  Morley  was  suffering  from  a  second  attack  of  brain 
fever;  which  satisfactorily  accounted  for  his  non-appear- 
ance, and  for  Grant's  constant  attendance  at  his  house. 
Rose  was  still  in  danger  ;  but  there  was  a  brighter  hope 
now  than  there  had  been  twelve  hours  before.  It  was 
growing  more  and  more  possible  that  she  might  rally  from 
the  shock,  and  partially  recover  ;  but  the  recovery  could 
be  only  partial. 

Robert  went  on  home, — to  the  home  he  had  sauntered 
away  from  carelessly  for  an  after-dinner  stroll  in  the  cool 
of  the  evei  ing,  on  Saturday  night.  The  prodigal  whom 
Mr.  Waldron  had  prepared  for  two  years  before,  and  who 
had  disappointed  him  by  his  light-hearted  gayety,  was  going 
back  to  his  father's  house  now,  feeling  that  he  was  no  more 
worthy.  The  famine  had  made  itself  felt  at  last,  and  he 
knew  that  he  had  nothing  but  husks  to  eat.  All  the 
wealth  and  the  honor,  the  graces  and  luxuries  of  his  life 


ANOTHER    HESTER.  429 

hung  ragged  and  threadbare  about  him.  He  yearned  to 
see  his  flither  looking  out  for  him,  ready  10  have  compas- 
sion upon  him,  and  run,  and  fall  on  his  neck  and  kiss  him. 
His  heart  was  very  full  of  repentance,  and  of  a  longing 
after  sosie  love  which  should  not  look  for  any  worthi- 
ness in  him.  But  his  father  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and 
he  avoided  meeting  his  sister.  He  bade  the  servant  tell 
Mr.  W'aldron,  when  he  came  in,  that  he  was  in  the  library  ; 
and  then  lie  went  there,  threw  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and 
fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  full  of  dreams.  When  he  opened 
his  eyes  again,  his  father  was  standing  by  him,  with  a  face 
of  painful  anxiety.  If  Carl  had  been  struck  by  the  change 
in  his  aspect,  his  father  was  ten  times  more  so.  This  was 
no  longer  his  handsome,  debonair  son  ;  but  a  weary  and 
worn  man,  who  had  been  beaten  somewhere  in  the  battle 
of  life.  Robert  had  groaned,  and  his  face  had  been  sadl} 
pained  in  his  sleep,  and  he  had  been  about  to  awaken  him 
from  his  disturbed  slumbers,  just  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  up.      '  Father  I  "  he  said  ;    "father?  " 

"  My  boy,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Waldron,  his  hard  features 
quivering,  and  his  voice  faltering,  "  what  is  it,  my  boy  ?  Tell 
me  everything.  I  am  your  father,  an  old  man  now,  but  I 
loved  your  mother  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  carried  you  in 
my  arms  when  you  were  a  baby.  You  may  tell  me.  I  am 
not  hard  towards  you.  I  can  bear  anything  from  you. 
There  is  nobody  loves  you  as  your  old  father  does.  Speak 
to  me,  Robert,  as  a  man  talks  with  his  friend." 

Robert  had  had  no  ver  fi.xed  purpose  of  concealment 
from  Mr.  Waldron,  though  he  had  told  Grant  ihat  they  must 
not  let  him  knowofjohn  Morley"s  crime  ;  and  now  he  could 
constrain  himself  no  longer.  He  told  him  all,  and  his  father 
listened,  with  a  profound  affection  and  compassion  for  him, 
which  biund  their  hearts  more  closely  the  one  to  the 
other. 


430  HESTER    MOKLEYS    PROMISE. 

"You  know  everything  now,"  he  said,  at  the  ecd; 
"  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  fearful  for  Hester  as  you  are,"  said  Mr. 
Waldron  ;  "  be  sure  that  her  father  will  do  her  no  harm  if 
he  be  mad,  and  I  suppose  he  must  be  mad.  Yet  he  was  not 
mad  when  he  attacked  you,  Robert ;  he  was  as  sane  as  he 
had  hci^n  for  many  years.  If  Hester  was  safe  with  him 
after  that,  she  will  be  safe  with  him  now." 

"  But  where  can  they  be  hiding .?"  exclaimed  Robert. 

"  We  must  find  out,"  he  answered.  "Hester  will  go 
back  to  the  school  sooner  or  later  to  inquire  after  that 
little  child.  I  know  her  well  enough  for  that.  Be  com- 
forted, my  boy.  All  these  things  will  work  together  for 
good  to  her,  if  not  to  you.  You  would  be  content  with 
that?" 

"Content!  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "if  Hester  were  safe  and 
happy  I  could  make  myself  content.  Father,  that  little 
child  will  die  !  " 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Waldron,  "no,  no.  We  v\ill 
give  her  a  fresh  life,  Robert.  She  must  come  here, — not 
here  with  your  sister,  I  did  not  mean  that, — but  to  Little 
Aston.  Annie  Grant  would  have  her;  yes,  Annie  would 
be  like  a  mother  to  her,  and  I  would  give  Grant  a  thou- 
sand pounds  to  make  her  strong  again.  She  has  your 
mother's  face,  you  say  ?  Oh,  Robert  I  would  to  God  I 
could  own  her  as  my  grandchild  !  " 

Mr.  Waldron  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  window, 
looking  out  on  the  terrace,  and  the  trim  lawn,  with  its 
gorgeous  flower-beds,  where  no  child  had  ever  played 
with  the  flowers.  This  little  waif  belonged  to  him,  but  he 
could  have  no  pride  in  claiming  her  ;  yet  he  would  make 
her  life  smooth  and  happy,  God  willing ;  she  should  know 
no  shame  or  sorrow  he  could  shield  her  from. 

"  We  cannot  own  her,"  he  said,  at  last ;  "  for  the  child's 


ANOTHER    HESTER.  ^31 

own  sake,  she  must  never  know,  and  no  one  else  must 
know,  her  relationship  to  us.  She  must  come  as  Annie's 
relative ;  and  she  will  be  near  to  us,  and  we  can  care  Ibi 
her ;  but  we  shall  always  keep  a  distance  between  us,  that 
the  world  may  suspect  nothing.  I  must  consult  with 
Grant  and  Annie  about  it  all." 

"  The  only  Hester  who  will  belong  to  me,"  said  Robert, 
with  a  pang  of  passing  bitterness.  Yet  he  was  comforted 
and  strengthened  by  his  confidence  to  his  father.  They 
walked  together  in  the  evening  to  Grant's  house,  and  found 
him  at  home,  worn  out  but  triumphant.  There  was  scarcely 
a  doubt  in  his  mind  now  that  Rose  would  not  die  from 
the  blow  she  had  received  ;  indirectly  it  might  hasten  her 
death,  as  her  health  was  delicate,  and  her  life  had  not 
been  a  good  one  before,  but  she  would  certainly  recover 
for  a  time.  If  they  could  only  acquaint  John  Morley 
with  this  fact  he  might  venture  home  again,  and  the  affair 
could  be  hushed  up  with  Mr.  Waldron's  connivance.  But 
the  mystery  of  John  Morley's  flight  remained  as  dark  as 
ever;  and  there  was  settling  down  upon  it  that  vague 
feeling  of  a  thing  accomplished  and  done  with,  which  is 
stamped  upon  all  the  events  of  the  past. 

Grant  and  Annie  listened  gladly  to  Mr.  Waldron's 
proposal  to  receive  little  Hester  into  their  house.  The 
only  difficulty  would  be  with  regard  to  Rose  ;  but  they 
decided  that  she  must  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  near 
neighborhood  of  her  child,  until  she  was  strong  enough  to 
bear  it,  and  to  be  willing  to  see  her  only  in  secret,  lest  the 
suspicions  of  the  townspeople  should  be  awakened.  Ij 
was  necessary  to  remove  the  child  from  school,  and  as 
soon  as  she  could  travel  with  safety  Grant  and  Annie  went 
up  to  London  to  fetch  her.  But  at  the  first  glance  Grant's 
keen  eyes  discovered  the  truth.  They  might  bring  her 
down  to   Little  Aston,  and  warm  her  in  the  sunshine  of 


432  HESTER   MORLEV  S   PROMISE. 

gladness  and  childish  joys  ;  but  the  chill  of  death  was 
upon  her,  and  the  warmth  had  come  too  late  to  save  her. 
'I'hey  carried  her  back  with  them  with  the  utmost  care  : 
and  Robert  Waldron  went  in  to  see  her  the  day  after  she 
had  been  received  into  her  new  home. 

"I  know  you  again,"  said  little  Hester,  receiving  his 
kiss  with  quaint  shyness,  "  you  came  the  night  the  other 
l-Iester  let't  me.  She  never,  never  came  back  to  me.  I 
am  come  here  to  have  my  holidays,  and  grow  strong  again. 
Do  you  think  that  I  shall  ever  be  strong  enough  to  go 
back  to  school .'' '" 

"  Not  to  that  school,"  answered  Robert,  taking  her 
upon  his  knee,  and  pressing  her  face  to  his. 

"I  never  want  to  learn  any  more  lessons,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  never  again." 

"  You  shall  never  learn  any  more,"  he  promised,  "  but 
you  shall  have  a  pony  to  ride." 

"  I  should  be  afraid  of  a  pony,"  she  said,  stirring  with 
joyous  agitation  in  his  arms. 

"Not  if  I  walked  by  you,  and  held  you  very  safe,"  he 
answered ;  "  my  little  girl  would  not  be  afraid  then." 

"  I'm  not  your  little  girl,"  she  said,  plaintively,  "  I'm 
nobody's  little  girl." 

"  But  I  love  you,  and  you  will  soon  love  me,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"You  must  love  me  more  than  any  body  else,  my  little 
Hetty,"  said  Robert,  with  a  jealous  desire  to  lay  claim  to 
the  child's  chief  affection. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  she  answered,  frankly,  "  I  could 
never  do  that.  I  love  the  other  Hester  more,  and  Carl.  I 
call  him  Carl  now  because  he  told  me.  He  said  Hester 
was  the  dearest  name  in  all  the  world  to  him  ;  and  now  he 
had  lost  the  other  Hester  I  was  to  belong  to  him.     I  am 


ANOTHER    HESTER.  433 

to  wTite  to  him  very  often,  when  I  am  well  enough ;  and  I 
shall  begin  my  letters  '  My  dear  Carl.'  What  ought  I  to 
call  you  ? '" 

He  could  not  answer  her,  and  he  laid  her  down  again 
upon  the  sofa,  from  which  he  had  lifted  her,  arranging  the 
cushions  about  her  carefully,  and  with  the  most  gentle  hands. 
He  came  every  day  to  see  her  ;  and  so  did  Mr.  Waldron, 
whose  heart  opened  to  her  with  the  doting  fondness  of  a 
grandfather.  Very  smooth  and  very  soft  was  the  path  her 
little  feet  were  treading,  but  it  tended  downward  to  the 
grave  ;  though  for  some  weeks  no  one  knew  il  except  Grant, 
who  would  not  mar  the  slight  consolation  that  came  to  Rob- 
ert in  this  close  attendance  upon  his  little  daughter. 

One  day,  when  the  summer  was  finest,  Robert  took  her 
with  him  to  Aston  Court,  and  the  child's  languid  feet  walked 
up  and  down  the  grassy  length  of  the  terrace  with  him. 
Mr.  Waldron  came  up  and  took  her  away  from  him  to  show 
her  the  aviary  ;  and  he  heard  his  name  called  by  his  sister's 
authoritative  voice. 

"  Who  is  that  child,  Robert  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  You  don't  know  ?  "  he  said,  in  an  accent  of  incredulity. 

"  No  ;  how  should  I  ?  "  she  asked.  '■  But  her  face  re- 
minds me  of  some  one.     Who  did  you  say  she  was  ?" 

"Rose  Morley's  child,"  he  answered,  in  a  hoarse  whis- 
per. 

"  Rose  Morley's  child  I  "  she  exclaimed,  "  but  I  never 
knew  she  had  any  child.  I  am  sure  nobody  ever  mention- 
•d  it  to  me.     Wherever  has  she  been  all  this  time  ? " 

"  Sister,"'  said  Robert,  "  the  child  is  mine." 

Miss  Waldron  gazed  into  his  face,  with  an  expression 
0(  bewilderment ;  then  a  faint  and  tardy  blush  tinged  her 
ch.'.ek,  and  her  eyelids  fell.  She  began  instantly  to  won- 
dei  what  would  be  the  most  befitting  course  for  her  to 
adoi>t. 

19 


434  HHSTKR    MORLKV'S    PROMISE. 

"  Robert,''  she  said  sternly,  "  your  sin  has  indeed  found 
you  out  I  ]  hope  you  feel  how  vile  a  sinner  you  are  !  But  I 
will  act  the  part  of  a  sister,  a  Christian  sister,  and  take 
charge  of  that  child  of  sin  and  shame,  and  se£  to  her  wel- 
fare for  time  and  eternity.  On  condition,  however,  that 
you  give  her  up  to  me  entirely,  and  never  see  her  again." 

Miss  Waldron  ceased,  with  an  air  of  self-cammendation. 
She  expected  her  brother  to  acknowledge  her  generosity 
thankfully  ;  but  he  did  not  answer  her  immediately,  and 
when  he  did,  it  was  in  broken  and  faltering  sentences. 

"  I  should  like  her  to  be  happy,''  he  slid  ;  "'  I  wish  her 
to  be  good.  I  want  her  to  learn  about  God  after  a  differ- 
ent fashion  from  my  own  learning.  She  must  be  with  some 
one  as  merciful  and  tender  as  Christ  was  upon  earth." 

"  And  I  ?  "  gasped  Miss  Waldron. 

"  You  are  not  that,"  he  said ;  "  you  are  nothing  like 
that.  God  knows  how  utterly  selfish  my  life  has  been  ; 
but  not  more  than  yours,  not  more  selfish  than  yours  in  its 
good  deeds.  I  don't  believe  you  love  anybody  besides 
yourself.  You  know  it.  Whom  have  you  loved  ?  No  ;  I 
could  not  give  the  care  of  the  child  to  you." 

Miss  Waldron  stared  at  him  with  stony  eyes.  It  had 
never  happened  to  her  to  have  her  piety  questioned  ;  she 
had  never  questioned  it  herself.  And  here  was  her  unre- 
generate  brother  hinting  with  bare  effrontery  that  she  was 
rot  the  favorite  daughter  of  heaven. 

"  If  any  one  is  near  to  the  very  heart  of  Christ,"  con- 
tinued Robert,  "it  is  Hester.  She  is  not  forever  brooding 
over  her  own  soul ;  but  she  cares  for  others,  she  loves  oth- 
ers. It  is  when  I  think  she  might  have  loved  me,  that  I 
fcel  my  sin  has  indeed  found  me  out." 

Miss  Waldron  would  listen  to  him  and  his  profane 
words  no  longer.  She  retired  with  unbending  dignity  to 
her  room,  where  she  locked  herself  in  before  giving  way  to 


! 


ANOTHER    HESTER.  435 

her  emotions.  The  onh-  relief  she  could  think  of  was  to 
pour  them  out  into  the  sympathizing  heart  of  David  Scott, 
whose  deafness  was  such  as  to  make  writing  the  easiest 
mode  of  communicating  the  infinite  varieties  and  minute 
shades  of  her  inner  life.  The  tears  flowed  down  upon  her 
paper,  and  impeded  her  progress  ;  but  she  did  not  lay 
aside  her  pen,  until  she  had  written  sixteen  pages,  worthy 
of  being  published  in  her  memoirs,  when  her  life  should  be 
»3/ritten  for  the  benefit  of  unborn  generations. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

THREE   months'    SUSPENSE. 

BY-AND-BY  some  inkling  of  the  truth  began  to  ooze 
out  in  Little  Aston.  Nobody  suspected  the  existence 
of  Rose,who  was  half-living,  half-dying  in  the  house,  tended 
by  the  old  Frenchwoman  with  singular  fidelity  ;  but  it  be- 
came generally  believed  that  instead  of  John  Morley  being 
ill  with  fever,  neither  he  nor  Hester  were  dwelling  in  their 
own  house.  The  sagacity  of  Little  Aston  was  at  no  loss  to 
account  for  their  absence.  It  had  been  long  known  that 
John  Morley  was  deeply  involved  in  debt,  and  without 
doubt  he  was  in  hiding  somewhere  from  his  creditors.  As 
soon  as  this  report  gained  universal  credence,  Mr.  Waldron 
came  forward  as  the  principal  creditor,  holding  a  mortgage 
upon  the  house,  and  undertook  to  satisfy  all  other  claims, 
on  condition  that  everything  was  left  to  him.  He  closed 
up  the  shop,  put  the  place  into  the  joint  guardianship  of 
Lawson's  mother,  and  the  poor  woman  to  whom,  it  was 
well  known,  Hester  had  given  a  shelter  in  the  out-buildings  , 
and  there,  as  far  as  the  townspeople  were  concerned,  the 
matter  rested. 

There  were  some  points  in  the  life  inside  the  house 
which  struck  Grant  as  peculiar.  He  could  hold  very  little 
conversation  with  Madame  ;  and  he  could  not  altogether 
account  for  her  extraordinary  and  faithful  attendance  upon 
Rose  all  through  the  crisis  of  her  illness,  and  during  the 
longer  and  n\Dve  tedious  weeks  of  her  convalescence.     Mad- 


THREE    months'    SUSPENSE.  437 

ame  could  never  be  persuaded  to  leave  her  charge,  and 
when  she  consented  to  take  her  necessary  sleep,  she  would 
only  lie  down  upon  a  bed  she  extemporized  upon  the  floor, 
in  one  corner  of  the  room.  She  insisted,  with  urgency,  upon 
having  chains  placed  upon  the  doors,  even  those  inside  the 
dwelling  ;  yet  when  Grant  proposed  that  Lawson  should 
take  up  his  quarters  there,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
shook  her  head  in  vehement  dissent.  But  as  soon  as  Rose 
was  able  to  speak,  and  to  speak  fluently  to  her  in  her  own 
language,  it  was  easier  to  understand  Madame's  attachment 
to  her  ;  and  m  the  course  of  a  short  time  Grant's  per- 
plexity passed  out  of  his  mind. 

It  was  some  weeks  before  Rose  seemed  to  awake  to 
anything  like  consciousness  of  her  own  state  and  circumstan- 
ces, and  afterwards  she  passed  most  of  her  time  in  a  lethargic 
stupor.  Possibly  the  blow  she  had  suffered  had  in  some 
manner  injured  her  brain  ;  but  now  and  then  her  mind  ap- 
peared to  rouse  itself  from  its  torpor,  with  the  keener  vigi- 
lance and  activity  for  its  long  slumber.  She  could  give  nc 
information  with  regard  to  the  evening  when  she  was  hurt, 
beyond  saying  that  she  had  heard  no  sound  and  seen  no 
one  approach  her  before  being  struck  by  the  stealthy  blow  ; 
and  that  she  instantly  lost  all  consciousness.  But  she  ap- 
peared willing  to  lie  still  in  her  listless  debility,  without 
asking  any  questions  concerning  her  husband^  in  whose 
house  she  knew  herself  to  be  ;  and  whenever  she  inquired 
after  Hester,  she  was  easily  pacified  with  an  evasive  answer. 

This  mental  languor,  with  its  rare  intervals  of  activity, 
lasted  until  she  was  well  enough  to  leave  her  bed  and  sit 
up  in  Hester's  little  study.  There  was  no  need  for  her  now 
to  return  to  the  old  nursery.  She  saw  no  one  but  Grant 
and  Lawson's  mother.  Mr.  Waldron  bade  Grant  feel  no 
hesitation  in  supplying  her  with  any  luxury  which  could 
soften  her  hard  lot ;  but  Rose  was  indifferent  to   those 


438  HESTER    MURLE\\S    PROMISE. 

luxuries,  which  had  once  seemed  to  her  feeble  and  self- 
indulgent  nature  the  chief  good.  In  the  gradual  and 
partial  recovery  of  her  mind,  she  began  to  grow  restless 
and  unquiet,  an  excitement  which  Gnnt  dreaded  for  her. 
It  was  Carl  she  wanted,  she  said,  day  after  day,  whenever 
she  roused  herself  to  take  any  notice  of  him  ;  and  after 
some  delay,  Grant  sent  for  Carl. 

For  Carl,  Hester's  disappearance  was  the  chief  and 
most  absorbing  circumstance  of  all  that  had  occurred  in 
this  concealed  drama  of  life  at  Little  Aston.  He  put 
numberless  advertisements  in  the  daily  papers,  so  worded 
that  if  they  met  her  eye  she  could  not  fail  to  understand 
them,  and  be  touched  by  their  anxiety  and  distress.  He 
reproached  himself  with  bitterness  that  he  had  not  con- 
fessed his  love  to  her,  and  if  she  loved  him,  that  he  had 
not  bound  her  to  himself  by  a  delicate  and  light  yoke' of 
duty  which  her  conscience  would  have  acknowledged.  If 
she  had  been  betrothed  to  him,  his  promised  wife,  she 
would,  above  all,  have  owned  the  allegiance  and  fealty  of 
affection  due  to  him.  But  he  had  left  her  free,  or  rather, 
knowing  Hester  as  he  did,  he  had  made  it  impossible  for 
her  to  fly  to  him,  while  he  was  yet  dumb  and  gave  no  voice 
to  his  love  for  her.  He  could  not  believe  that  she  and  her 
father  had  left  London  ;  and  every  woman's  figure  at  all 
resembling  Hester's  stirred  every  fibre  of  his  heart.  He 
would  see  it  afar  off,  hurry  to  get  level  with  it,  cast  his  eyes 
upon  the  face,  with  a  wild  and  forlorn  hope,  and  then  turn 
awa}'',  or  pass  on  with  an  indescribable  heart-sinking.  As 
day  after  day  wore  away,  and  week  after  week,  bringing  no 
news  of  Hester,  he  grew  terrified,  exasperated  at  the  long 
suspense.  A  mournful,  almost  reckless  despondencv  took 
possession  of  him.  His  co-pastor,  a  man  who  had  found 
his  way  into  the  tranquillity  and  serenity  of  old  age,  and 
his  church,  very  busy  with  its  own  cares,  said  he  was  over- 


TIIRKH    months'    SUSPENSE.  439 

tasking  and  irritating  his  brain  ;  and  when  Grar-.t's  sum- 
mons came  for  him  to  go  down  to  Little  Aston,  his  deacons 
advised  him  to  take  a  holiday  of  two  or  three  weeks. 

It  was  three  months  now  since  ohn  Morley  had  taken 
his  flight  from  Little  Aston,  and  no  trace  had  been  dis- 
covered of  him.  Carl  entered  the  towr  with  a  feeling  of 
despair,  and  like  Robert  Waldfon,  went  first  to  walk  past 
the  house  before  going  up  io  Grant's  home.  It  was  dis- 
mal, silent ;  like  a  grave,  only  more  empty  than  a  grave. 
A  mystery  hung  about  it,  and  made  it  blacker  than  it  was 
before.  He  saw  Lawson,  smaller,  more  shrivelled,  more 
palsied,  prowling  about  the  pavement,  and  looking  up  to 
the  closed  windows  as  if  seeking  some  mode  of  entrance. 
He  called  to  him,  in  the  subdued  voice  of  one  who  fears 
to  disturb  a  quiet  place,  and  Lawson  came  close  up  to  him. 
gazing  with  his  keen  but  sunken  eyes  into  his  face.  "Uo 
you  know  everything  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Everything,"  answered  Carl.  "Where  can  Hester  be, 
Lawson  ? '" 

"  You  love  her  ?  "  he  said,  sharply. 

"  As  I  love  my  own  soul ! "  exclaimed  Carl,  passion- 
atelv.  "  I  would  save  her  from  sorrow  as  I  would  save 
myself  from  sin." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  them,"  said  Lawson,  in  a  tone 
of  surly  and  dogged  temper;  "but  it's  my  notion  that 
Robert  Waldron  knows.     He's  the  devil." 

He  turned  quickly  round,  and  went  as  swiftly  as  his 
tottering  limbs  would  carry  him  up  the  street;  while  Carl 
walked  sadly  away  towards  his  sisters  house. 

His  arrival  had  been  anticipated  all  the  da\-,  for  his 
sister  and  the  child  Hester  had  thought  and  talked  of 
nothing  else.  Annie  had  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his 
room  with  her  own  hands  ;  and  Hester  had  been  carried 
there  by  Grant  to  place  upon  the  dressing-table  apin-cush- 


440  HESTER    MORI.EY's    PROMISE.  j 

ion  upon  which  she  had  marked  with  pins  the  word  ''Carl.'' 
She  had  to  be  carried  up  and  down  stairs  now  ;  and  the 
pony,  which  had  occasionally  borne  her  quietly  along  the 
lanes  and  across  Aston  Court  Park,  had  not  been  mounted 
for  sotne  days  past,  though  it  was  brought  to  the  door 
every  morning,  that  she  might  look  at  it  with  her  pensive 
and  gentle  smile.  Yet  the  chill  shadow  of  her  formal  aud 
unnatural  life  was  passing  away,  and  her  smile  was  gayer, 
and  her  weak  laughter  more  ready.  She  was  sitting  rest- 
fully  upon  Robert  Waldron's  knee,  with  her  head  lying 
upon  his  shoulder,  when  Carl  entered,  and  with  a  shrill 
yet  feeble  cry  of  delight,  she  stretched  out  both  her  arms 
to  him. 

"  You  love  Carl  best  still,"  said  Robert,  mournfully,  when 
she  was  transferred  to  his  arms,  and  was  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  eyes  of  vivid  and  childish  joy. 

"  He  knew  me  first,"  said  the  child,  "  long  and  long 
before  you  knew  me.  I  couldn't  help  loving  him  best. 
Have  you  found  the  other  Hester  yet,  Carl  ? " 

"  Not  yet,'*  he  answered,  kissing  the  child's  quivering 
mouth. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  find  her  before  I  die,"  she  said  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh  of  anxiety.  "You  won't  be  so  sorry  foi 
me  if  you  have  her." 

"  There  is  no  clue  to  them  yet,"  said  Robert,  in  a  hope- 
less tone. 

"  I  have  a  fancy,"  answered  Carl,  "  that  if  I  could  see 
Hester's  home  again,  some  intimation  might  come  to  me, 
— some  inspiration,  I  may  as  well  call  it, — to  lead  me  to 
where  she  may  be  found.  It  is  nothing  but  a  superstition, 
but  it  is  there  in  my  mind." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to-morrow,"  said  Robert. 

Carl  looked  up  steadily  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
surprise  and  inquiry.     He  did  not  know  whether  he  had 


THREE    months'    SUSPENSE.  44 1 

evei  seen  Rose  since  the  time  when  he  and  Grant  had 
been  summoned  by  Madame  to  her  aid.  Before  the  child, 
who  was  listening  with  eager  curiosity,  he  could  ask  no 
question.  Little  Hester  turned  her  earnest  face  also  to 
wards  Robert. 

"  Is  the  other  Hester's  home  near  here  ?  "  she  asked 
of  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you  know  her  ? "  she  continued. 

Robert  nodded,  for  his  only  reply. 

"  And  you  never  spoke  of  her  to  me,"  she  went  on.  re- 
proachfully, "  not  when  I  told  you  all  about  her.  You 
never  said  you  knew  her.  I  told  you  that  she  said  my 
poor  mother  was  gone  to  live  with  her,  and  you  never  told 
me  it  was  somewhere  near  here.  It  was  not  kind  to  me. 
I  might  have  seen  my  mother.  O  Carl,  take  me  with  you 
to-morrow  to  see  my  mother." 

She  was  too  weak  to  cry  aloud,  but  the  silent  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  and  she  sobbed  quietly  to  herself  as  she 
hid  her  face  against  Carl's  breast.  Robert  could  endure 
his  own  pain  no  longer.  The  child's  preference  for  Carl, 
— his  own  child, — stung  him  to  the  quick  ;  yet  he  controlled 
all  token  of  his  natural  jealousy.  He  kissed  the  small 
thin  palm  which  hung  listlessly  down  by  Hester's  side,  and 
pressed  Carl's  hand  warmly.  Then  with  a  great  grief  and 
hunger  in  his  heart  he  went  out  into  the  night,  and  walked 
home  slowly  through  deep  darkness. 
19* 


CHAPTER    LXIII. 

AN    INSPIRATION. 

C'^ARL  and  Robert  went  down  to  John  Morley's  house 
-^  with  Grant,  when  he  called  to  see  Rose  the  ne.xt 
morning.  While  he  prepared  her  gently  for  the  excite- 
ment of  seeing  Carl,  the  latter  accompanied  Robert  through 
every  other  part  of  the  house.  Madame  was  with  them, 
and  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity  to  give  her  tongue 
play.  Her  son,  she  told  them,  had  had  an  access  of  his 
malady  since  last  night,  and  had  taken  an  unusually  strong 
dose  of  opium,  the  effects  of  which  had  not  worked  off. 
His  attic  was  unoccupied,  and  there  was  now  no  trace  of 
work  in  it.  Hester's  seat  was  still  in  its  place  in  the  broad 
dormer  window  ;  but  it  was  covered  with  dust,  as  was  also 
the  binding-press.  A  press-pin  lay  in  one  corner,  as  if  it 
had  been  flung  there  hastily ;  it  was  rusty,  but  when  Carl 
stooped  to  pick  it  up,  a  singular  revulsion,  possible  to  a 
sensitive  temperament  like  his,  caused  him  to  shrink  from 
jouching  it.  His  face  was  white  when  he  turned  away,  and 
he  hastened  to  quit  the  work-room.  Down  stairs  the  old 
Frenchwoman  had  cleaned  and  put  everything  into  a  cold 
desolate  order,  altogether  unlike  the  warm  living  displace- 
ment and  disarrangement  of  a  house  which  has  inmates. 
Carl  looked  about  him  with  a  chill  sense  of  disquiet  and 
disappointment.  He  felt  that  he  should  gain  no  hint  of 
Hester  from  these  rooms,  empty,  swept,  and  garnished. 
It  had  been  a  superstition, — one  of  those    superstitions 


AN    INSPIRATION".  443 

which  are  apt  to  follow  closely  in  the  track  of  a  passionate 
love;  and  though  he  half-laughed  at  himself,  he  gave  it  up 
with  reluctance. 

By  the  time  they  had  gone  through  all  the  deserted 
rooms,  Rose  was  ready  to  receive  Carl.  He  found  her 
calm  almost  to  apathy,  until,  as  if  she  suddenly  recollected 
why  she  had  wished  to  see  him,  she  began  to  speak  about 
her  child.  Then  Carl,  who  had  been  warned  by  Grant 
to  avert  from  her  as  far  as  possible  any  extreme  agita- 
tion, judged  it  to  be  best  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth  at  once. 

"  She  is  here,  in  Little  Aston,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
singular  sweetness,  which  soothed  her  feverish  disquie- 
tude ;  "  my  sister  Annie  has  charge  of  her,  and  I  am  come 
from  her  this  morning  to  you.  If  you  will  only  control 
yourself,  there  is  no  reason  why  she  should  not  come  here 
to  see  you." 

"At  Little  Aston  !  '"  murmured  Rose  ;  "here,  close  to 
me !  Oh,  how  good  you  are  !  My  little  Hetty  !  I  hunger 
and  thirst  to  see  her.  Sometimes  I  am  not  quite  sure' 
which  little  Hetty  it  is.  Are  you  sure,  quite  sure,  that  I 
have  been  a  very  sinful  woman,  and  that  I  am  not  a  silly 
giddy  girl  like  I  used  to  be  ?     Which  am  I,  Carl  .•*  " 

He  was  silent,  looking  at  her  with  grave,  pitiful  eyes  ; 
and  Rose  turned  her  face  away  from  him.  "  I  know,"  she 
said  with  a  sigh ;  ''  yet  I  think  the  sinful  woman  is  nearer 
to  God  than  the  giddy  girl  was.  Will  you  let  Hetty  come 
to  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  She  shall  certainly  come,"  answered  Carl,  gently  : 
"  but  I  must  tell  you  something  about  her.  The  world 
would  be  very  cold  and  cruel  for  your  little  girl." 

'■  Oh  !  I  know,"  she  cried.  "  My  darling !  my  poor 
darling  !  And  it  is  I  who  have  done  it !  And  I  can  do 
nothing  to  take  away  that  shame.  Oh  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Carl,  is  there  any  help  for  a  wrong  like  this  ? " 


444  IIKSTER    MORI.EY  S    PROMISE. 

"Yes,"  he  said  ;  ''God  can  repair  this  wrong.  He  is 
about  to  do  it.  But  there  is  only  one  way  by  wliich  a 
wrong  like  this  can  be  set  right.  The  world  would  be  too 
cold  and  cruel  for  her,  and  he  is  about  to  take  her  out  ot 
the  world." 

"  She  is  going  to  die  !  "  said  Rose  quietly ;  closing  her 
weary  eyes,  and  leaning  back  against  the  pillows  which 
supported  her.  She  lay  quite  still  and  silent  for  some 
minutes,  and  a  few  tears  stole  slowly  down  her  cheeks. 
Then  she  spoke  again  eagerly. 

"  She  must  come  here  at  once,  my  poor  little  darling  I  " 
she  said.  "  Nobody  could  tend  her  and  love  her  as  I  will. 
She  is  my  own,  Carl.  See,  I  will  have  the  little  bed  Hes- 
ter used  to  sleep  in  put  up  in  the  drawing-room.  It  is  a 
large  room,  and  the  sun  shines  upon  it  most  of  the  clay. 
It  used  to  be  such  a  pleasant  room  !  I  am  quite  strong 
enough  to  nurse  my  own  child,  though  I  am  going  to  die 
too,  not  very  long  hence.  Oh,  how  good  God  is  !  How 
He  puts  things  right !  And  you  are  good  to  me,  too,  dear 
Carl.  What  should  I  have  done  without  you?  \Miat 
would  have  become  of  me  and  my  poor  little  Hetty  ?  Oh 
Carl,  Carl,  how  very  good  you  are  to  me  !  " 

She  broke  into  vehement  sobs,  though  she  tried  to 
smile ;  while  she  caressed  his  hand  with  her  own,  and 
would  have  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Carl ;  "  hush  !  You  must  not  excite 
yourself     Hester  shall  come." 

"  The  poor  child  !  "  said  Rose,  softly  to  herself  "  Oh, 
nobody  knows  w^hat  her  life  has  been.  I  am  glad  she  is 
going  home  to  God.  Why,  I  only  saw  her  twice  till  she 
was  six  years  old  ;  and  since  then  I  could  count  the  days 
she  has  been  with  me.  That  is  not  like  other  children, 
who  are  always  with  their  mother ;  and  nobody  can  love  a 
child  as  its  own   mother  does.     My  love!   my  darling!  I 


AN    INSPIRATION.  445 

wonder  if  she  is  much  altered.  She  was  always  very  small 
and  delicate,  and  she  never  had  any  childish  ways  about 
her ;  but  how  could  she,  living  always  in  a  school  with 
strangers  ?  Shall  I  be  strong  enough  to  nurse  her  on  ray 
lap,  Carl  ?  Will  Mr.  Grant  only  let  me  have  her  some- 
times just  lor  a  minute  on  my  own  lap?  If  you  will  let 
me  lean  on  your  arm,  I  could  show  you  at  once  how  nice 
the  drawing-room  would  be  for  her." 

She  spoke  so  urgently  that  Carl  did  not  know  how  to 
refuse  her.  He  raised  her  from  her  chair,  and  put  his  arm 
round  her  to  support  her ;  her  new  deep  joy  lending  her 
strength.  The  drawing-room,  like  the  rest  of  the  house, 
had  been  put  to  rights;  and,  except  the  faded  color  of  the 
furniture,  there  remamed  no  traces  of  the  dust  accumulated 
during  the  many  years  it  had  been  closed.  The  shutters 
towards  the  street  vvere  not  opened,  but  the  window  look- 
ing upon  a  little  garden  admitted  the  autumn  sunshine 
freely.     Rose  directed  her  feeble  steps  towards  it. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  "  the  bed  shall  stand,  where  it  is 
bright  and  pleasant ;  and  the  room  is  large  ;  she  can  walk 
about  in  it  well,  when  she  is  too  ill  to  go  out  of  doors. 
Oh  Carl,  you  don't  know  how  proud  and  happy  I  was  when 
I  was  getting  this  room  ready  !  " 

She  spoke  in  an  accent  of  such  poignant  anguish, 
that  Carl  could  scarcely  keep  back  his  tears.  But  this 
memory  of  the  past  was  gone  from  her  in  an  instant ;  and 
remembering  that  there  would  be  much  to  do  to  prepare 
the  place  for  her  child  to  die  in,  she  hurried  him  away,  tell- 
ing him  that  he  must  bring  her  little  Hester  there  before 
the  night  closed. 

Robert  was  waiting  for  him  in  John  Morley's  parlor, 
still  in  conversation  with  Madame  Lawson,  who  seemed 
unable  to  part  with  milord  .  Waldron.     She   arrested  them 


44^  HESTER    MORI.l.V'S    PROMISE. 

even  at  the  door,  to  give  utterance  to  a  last  speech,  which 
Carl  could  not  understand. 

"Be  of  good  heart,  milord,"  she  said,  "the  little  one 
will  come  back.  Ah,  how  I  miss  her  !  She  could  speak 
French  like  a  Frenchwoman.  She  was  so  sweet,  so  gentle, 
so  sage !  Like  a  little  angel  of  the  good  God.  There  is 
nobody  to  talk  to  me  now  of  Burgundy,  and  my  little  town 
Ecquemonville.  She  would  talk  to  me  for  hours  of  mon- 
sieur the  cure,  and  monsieur  the  doctor,  and  my  friend,  the 
widow  Limet.  She  knew  the  place  like  what  you  call  a 
map  ;  for  I  built  it  for  her  one  day  with  books, — a  big  book 
for  the  church,  and  the  town-hall,  and  the  house  of  the 
mayor,  and  little  books  for  the  smaller  houses.  Here 
was  the  place,  and  there  the  market,  and  yonder  the  foun- 
tain. Oh,  the  little  one  knew  it  very  well !  She  knew  all 
our  patois,  milord,  as  if  she  had  been  born  there.  I  used 
to  call  her  my  little  daughter  of  Burgundy,  and  I  said  to 
her  each  day,  '  Go,  go,  my  cherished  one,  my  angel  ;  the 
sun  shines  there  as  it  shines  never  in  this  bad  country.' 
But  I  have  no  one  to  talk  to  me  of  Burgundy  now." 

Robert  started,  and  turned  to  look  at  Carl,  who  was 
waiting  impatiently  to  get  away,  and  whose  careworn  face 
remained  blank.  The  inspiration  had  come,  but  not  to 
Carl.  It  was  to  Robert  that  the  old  Frenchwoman's  words 
gave  a  clue  which  appeared  likely  to  lead  him  to  the 
discovery  of  the  fugitives.  If  Hester  and  John  Morley 
had  left  England,  a  conclusion  which  had  become  almost 
a  conviction  with  him,  what  place  would  they  be  more 
likely  to  choose  for  concealment  than  this  distant,  unknown, 
yet  to  Hester,  familiar  town  in  Burgundy?  If^they  had 
been  in  London,  or  even  in  Paris,  argued  Robert,  they 
could  not  have  failed  to  see  the  English  papers  ;  and  if 
Carl's  numerous  advertisements  had  escaped  them,  they 
must  have  known  from  the  absence  of  all  news  concerning 


AN   INSPIRATION.  447 

any  murder  at  Little  Aston,  that  in  some  way  or  othei 
John  Morley's  crime  had  missed  the  ordinary  results.  He 
could  come  to  no  other  conclusion  than  that  they  had  fled 
to  some  region  beyond  the  circulation  of  any  news  from 
England  ;  and  the  small  insignificant  town  of  Ecquemon- 
ville  would  be  precisely  such  a  place.  It  was  there  Hester 
would  be  found.  This  little  town,  hidden  among  the  vine- 
yards of  Burgundy,  busy  with  its  own  small  interests,  with 
no  frequent  communication  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
quickly  adopting  a  stranger  into  its  own  narrow  circle, — 
Hester  must  be  there.  The  old  selfishness, — a  selfishness 
which  he  had  been  victoriously  trampling  under  his  feet 
for  the  last  three  months,  rose  up  again  strong  and  mighty. 
He  would  find  Hester  himself,  saying  nothing  to  Carl  of 
this  new,  faint  hope.  Hester  should  owe  to  him  all  the 
help  and  consolation  she  could  receive  in  her  peculiar 
position  of  desolation  and  distress. 

At  Grant's  door  he  stopped,  declining  to  go  in  ;  for 
already  his  heart  burned  with  a  passionate  desire  to  be 
upon  the  road,  at  the  end  of  which  he  expected  to  find 
Hester.  There  was  not  even  a  vague  hope  within  him  that 
he  should  ever  win  her.  He  knew  that  upon  the  path  he 
had  to  travel  through  life  there  was  a  point  where  the  cross 
stood,  upon  which  must  be  crucified  his  lost  love,  his  lost 
hope.  But  he  could  not  relinquish  the  sweetness  of  finding 
Hester  himself  alone  ;  it  might  be  the  last  sweetness  and 
joy  he  should  taste  in  all  his  intercourse  with  her.  His 
love  for  her,  deepened  and  purified  by  all  these  later 
sorrows,  must  never  seek  satisfaction, — except  the  satisfac- 
tion to  which  he  had  always  been  a  stranger;  that  of  sur- 
rendering itself,  and  consenting  to  be  sacrificed  to  the 
happiness  of  the  beloved  one.  But  it  was  coming  gradually 
to  this  in  Robert's  spirit ;  and  with  set  face  and  heart  he 


448  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

travelled  towards  the  threatening  cross,  only  asking  to 
gather  one  little  flower  at  its  foot. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  a  day  or  two,  Carl,"  he  said, 
pressing  his  hand  convulsively  ;  "  I  shall  be  back  soon. 
Take  care  of  my  little  Hetty.  She  will  not  miss  me  now 
you  are  here." 

He  hurried  home  and  wrote  a  short  note  to  his  father, 
saying  that  he  was  going  away  upon  business,  for  he  did 
not  wish  to  subject  himself  to  any  questioning;  and  with 
very  little  other  preparation  he  set  out  by  the  first  train  on 
his  journey  to  Burgundy. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

IN   THE   SUNSHINE. 

JOHN  MORLEY  was  in  the  condition  of  a  man  who 
has  been  dwelling  underground  for  so  long  a  period 
that  he  has  almost  forgotten  the  glory  of  the  upper  world. 
For  him,  in  his  gloomy  and  abandoned  home,  there  had 
been  no  sweet  influences  of  sunshine  and  breeze,  no 
change  of  season,  no  opening  of  leaf-buds,  no  soft  starry 
fall  of  snow.  He  had  obstinately  closed  his  senses  to  all 
the  healing  agencies  of  nature  ;  and  with  almost  greater 
obstinacy  he  had  steeled  himself  against  the  tender  energy 
of  religion.  He  had  been  voluntarily  sojourning  in  "a 
land  of  darkness,  as  darkness  itself,  and  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  without  any  order,  and  where  the  light  is  as  dark- 
ness." 

Perhaps  the  first  thing  necessary  for  him  was  to  re- 
awaken his  sensibility  towards  outer  influences.  Grant 
had  from  the  first  recognized  this  necessity,  and  had  urged 
him  to  take  a  long  walk  daily  in  the  beautiful  neighborhood 
surrounding  Little  Aston.  But  John  Morley  had  not  the 
moral  courage  and  strength  to  break  out  of  the  dungeon 
where  he  was  kept  by  Giant  Despair.  It  was  needful  that 
the  angels  should  lay  hold  upon  him  and  bring  him  forth, 
and  set  him  without  the  gates. 

He  was  free  then  at  last.  He  had  come  up  from  the 
depths.  The  wonderful  sunshine  of  Burgundy  dazzled 
him,  but  he  felt  its  warmth   and  its  light   penetrate   to  \.\w 


450  HESTER    MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 

very  core  of  his  heart.  The  great  fountain  of  life  sent  elec- 
tric currents  through  all  his  numbed  veins.  He  could  not 
think  at  first, — he  was  too  bewildered.  It  was  enough  to 
stand  by  and  look  on  with  newly-opened  eyes  at  the  moving 
panorama  surrounding  him.  Everything  was  new  to  him, 
and  removed  him  by  its  novelty  from  the  sorrowful  memo- 
ries of  his  old  life.  He  scarcely  spent  an  hour  in-doors 
from  early  in  the  morning  until  the  last  bell  rung  at  ten 
o'clock,  when  all  the  inhabitants  of-Ecquemonville  thought 
it  the  right  thing  to  retire  peacefully  into  their  own  cham- 
bers. When  he  was  weary  of  gazing  up  into  the  marvellous 
blue  of  the  sky,  he  turned  his  rapt  attention  to  tlie  vine- 
yards, where  the  grapes  were  deepening  every  day  into  a 
more  purple  tint.  In  the  boulevards  of  the  little  town, 
which  was  almost  deserted  by  the  people,  he  spent  every 
noontide  in  the  shadow  of  its  green  aisle  ;  with  the  trees 
growing  thickly  on  each  side,  and  only  opening  here  and 
there  to  give  a  glimpse  of  the  shining  v.aters  of  the  river 
lapping  against  their  deep-struck  roots.  As  the  fierce  heat 
of  the  sun  declined,  he  would  return  to  the  streets,  where 
the  inhabitants  turned  out  of  their  dwellings  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening  to  chatter  and  gossip,  or  flirt  with  all  the  gay- 
ety  and  light-heartedness  of  the  people  of  a  warm  climate. 
He  was  never  tired  of  watching  the  groups  which  gathered 
on  the  pavements  before  the  doors  of  the  houses,  who  sa- 
luted him  as  he  passed  to  and  fro,  with  the  grace  and  po- 
liteness of  their  country, — a  politeness  which  he  acknowl- 
edged with  a  strange  smile  upon  his  face.  He  could  not 
understand  a  word  they  said,  but  this  only  added  to  the 
charm  Was  he  indeed  the  same  sorrow-stricken  man, 
whose  dishonor  had  been  upon  every  tongue,  and  who  had 
had  to  shrink  from  the  glance  of  every  eye?  He  did  not 
even  ask  himself  this  question  ;  he  was  too  full  of  the  nov- 
elty of  the  present  moment. 


IN    THE    SUNSIIIxXE.  45 1 

Besides  all  this,  he  would  come  in  at  meal-times  with 
a  wholesome  hearty  appetite  tor  the  dainties  the  widow 
Limet  provided  for  him  and  Hester.  The  widow  Limet 
was  put  upon  her  mettle.  She  believed  firml}'  that  the 
English  lived  solely  upon  raw  beefsteak  and  strong  ale  ; 
and  now  that  she  had  two  of  these  benighted  barbarians 
under  her  roof,  she  was  tired  with  an  ardent  resolution  to 
show  them  the'  mysteries  and  marvels  of  French  cooking. 
Such  friandises,  such  omelettes,  such  soups,  such  g'lteaux, 
she  placed  upon  the  table,  as  would  have  made  a  gourmand's 
mouth  water.  She  regretted  sorely  that  it  was  not  the  sea- 
son for  the  delicate  vineyard  snails,  which  were  sold  for  a 
penny  a-piece,  even  in  the  economical  town  of  Ecquemon- 
ville,  that  she  might  have  set  a  ragout  of  them  before  mon- 
sieur and  mademoiselle.  For  the  honor  of  their  country 
her  neighbors  picked  out  the  finest  of  their  fruit  for  the  for- 
eigners, and  presented  it  in  lavish  profusion.  From  his 
first  meal  in  the  morning,  consisting  of  a  bowl  of  rich  milk 
into  which  was  poured  a  cupful  of  the  very  essence  of  cof- 
fee, with  a  dainty  new-baked  roll  added  to  it  ;  to  his  dinner 
at  seven  o'clock,  with  its  four  or  five  courses  and  generous 
wines,  John  Morley  was  fed  upon  the  choicest  of  food. 
Diet  makes  a  marvellous  difference  in  a  man's  spiritual  con- 
dition ;  and  Hester,  with  her  wise,  observant  eyes,  learned 
some  lessons  in  Ecquemonville  which  she  would  have  fail- 
ed to  gather  from  the  ascetic  fare  and  lenten  nutriment  of 
their  former  mode  of  life. 

But  none  of  these  outer  things  had  the  same  influence 
over  Hester.  Her  mind  had  not  been  suffering  from  a 
long  malady,  and  could  not  therefore  enjoy  the  almos* 
sensuous  pleasure  of  the  change  which  was  bringing  health 
to  her  father.  She  was  devoted  to  him  ;  but,  in  spite  of 
her  devotion,  her  heart  clung  ^with  bitter  strength  to  the 
love  of  her  own   country,  the   love   of  old    familiar  places, 


452  HESTER   MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

the  love,  scarcely  acknowledged,  of  Carl.  She  did  not 
think  willingly  of  the  last.  They  were  separated  by  a  mis- 
erable and  irrevocable  destiny.  At  times  she  was  almost 
glad  that  no  stronger  tie  bound  them  together  than  mere 
friendship, — a  friendship,  also,  more  implied  than  pro- 
fessed. If  he  had  loved  her,  her  duty  would  have  been 
divided,  but  now  it  belonged  solely  to  her  father.  What 
the  final  end  oi  their  present  strange  life  would  be,  she 
could  not  by  any  etfort  foresee.  Not  a  whisper  reached 
them  from  that  far-off  place  where  all  her  years  had  been 
passed.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  course  of  events 
was  going  on  as  usual  in  Little  Aston,  which  for  her  was 
as  the  buried  cities  of  ancient  times  ?  Were  the  streets 
there  still?  Was  her  old  home,  the  only  home  she  had 
ever  known,  yet  standing  in  its  dark  northern  corner, 
where  the  sun  never  shone  upon  it  ?  Was  the  chapel  open 
Sunday  after  Sunday;  and  did  the  church  bells  chime  as 
they  were  wont  to  do  ? 

Hester's  favorite  place  for  indulging  in  these  mournful 
questionings  was  the  cool,  lofty,  solemn  interior  of  the  fine 
old  church  of  Ecquemonville.  She  chose  a  chair  for  her- 
self, where  she  was  half  hidden  by  a  pillar ;  and  there  she 
sat,  hour  after  hour,  letting  all  the  pageantry  of  Catholic 
ceremonials  pass  before  her,  but  paying  no  heed  to  it.  She 
heard  the  organs  answering  to  one  another  in  grand  vol- 
umes of  sound,  which  made  her  tremble,  but  she  never 
asked  herself  why  it  w-as  so.  The  worshippers  respected 
the  pale  young  Englishwoman,  whose  ascetic,  saint-like 
beauty  was  in  harmony  with  their  own  worship.  No  one 
spoke  to  her  ;  a  few  offered  her  the  holy  water  on  the  tips 
of  their  fingers  as  she  passed  in  and  out,  and  felt  repaid 
by  the  sudden  light  in  her  grey  eyes  as  she  recognized  the 
courtesy.  She  was  adopted  by  them  with  a  silent  adop- 
tion ;  and   the    cure,  a   venerable  old   man,  who  had    no 


IN   THE   SUNSHINE.  455 

intention  of  making  a  convert  of  her,  regarded  her  w'th  a 
profound  interest,  which  only  waited  for  an  opportunity  to 
shape  itself  into  language. 

The  vintage  came,  with  its  deepened  mirth  and  hil- 
arity ;  and  John  Morley's  force  and  energy  had  returned 
to  him  almost  as  if  he  had  never  wasted  them  in  morbid 
brooding ;  but  Hester's  silent  longings  were  growing  day 
by  day  more  enfeebling.  The  fine  balance  of  health  was 
disturbed  by  her  ceaseless  conjectures  as  to  both  past  and 
future.  She  had  never  renewed  her  conversation  with 
her  father  about  the  circumstances  of  the  night  preceding 
their  hurried  flight  from  England.  Rose  was  dead  ;  and 
amid  her  other  troubled  thoughts,  it  seemed  very  nearly  a 
relief  to  think  of  her  as  one  who  has  made  the  final  escape 
from  the  evils  of  life.  But  she  could  not  be  sure  that  her 
father's  hand  was  not  guilty  of  her  death.  He  had  said  it 
was  not  so  ;  but  his  reason  had  been  so  shaken  at  the 
time,  that  she  could  not  trust  implicitly  to  his  word  or 
memory.  She  could  not  yet  gather  courage  to  question 
him  again.  But  who  could  be  guilty,  if  not  he  ?  It  would 
be  impossible  to  return  to  England,  for  their  flight  had 
fixed  the  crime  upon  him.  If  they  ever  set  foot  again  in 
their  native  land,  he  would  be  called  upon  to  expiate  the 
death  of  Rose,  either  as  a  murderer  or  a  madman.  Oh, 
the  exile  ;  the  terrible  banishment  !  A  home-sickness 
laid  its  chilly  hand  upon  her  ;  and  she  felt  that  no  life, 
however  bright  or  joyous,  could  wean  her  from  the  yearn- 
ing to  see  her  own  people,  and  hear  her  own  language 
once  again. 

Long  before  reaching  Ecquemonville,  Robert  Waldron 
knew  his  quest  was  successful.  The  driver  of  the  dili- 
gence, to  whom  it  seemed  an  extraordinary  thing  to  have 
another  Englishman  as  a  passenger  in  so  short  a  time  after 
the  arrival  of  John  Morley  and  Hester,  informed  him  that 


454  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

two  of  his  compatriots  had  made  Ecquemonville  their 
residence  since  the  beginning  of  June.  On  being  question- 
ed, he  described  them  as  a  man,  with  very  white  hair  and 
seemingly  of  great  age  ;  and  a  young  lady,  his  daughter, 
very  pretty,  very  amiable,  and  very  sad.  Robert  could 
not  doubt  that  these  were  the  two  he  was  seeking;  and  his 
heait  throbbed,  as  it  had  not  done  for  some  time  past,  with 
a  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  happiness.  Every  step  of  the 
road  brought  him  nearer  to  Hester,  to  whom  he  was  carry- 
ing glad  tidings.  Whatever  she  had  thought  of  her  father's 
deed,  it  must  be  an  infinite  relief  to  her  to  hear  that  he  had 
again  escaped  being  guilty  of  a  dark  and  cardinal  sin. 
The  way  home  was  open  to  them  ;  they  could  return  to 
it  at  any  hour  they  pleased.  He  could  not  fail  to  be  wel- 
come, with  such  consolation  as  this. 

Hester  was  sitting  at  the  window,  with  her  arms  resting 
on  the  sill,  looking  listlessly  down  upon  the  dull  street  and 
market-square,  which  seemed  stamped  ineffaceably  upon 
her  brain.  The  diligence  came  in,  and  she  saw  the  group 
of  laundresses  round  the  fountain  pause  as  usual  at  their 
work,  and  the  loungers  throng  round  the  conveyance,  hid- 
ing the  only  traveller  who  descended  from  it.  She  was 
very  heart-sick  this  afternoon ;  and  all  this  was  nothing  to 
her  except  one  more  scene  in  the  shifting  panorama  of 
the  streets.  But  an  hour  afterwards,  as  she  still  sat  there, 
silent,  spiritless,  half  broken-hearted,  the  stranger  appeared 
on  the  uneven  pavement  below,  coming  swiftly  towards  her, 
with  upraised  face,  and  eyes  fastened  upon  her.  Hester 
caught  convulsively  at  the  window-sill,  and  leaned  forward 
with  a  fascinated  and  incredulous  gaze.  Her  father  was 
in  the  room  behind  her,  reading  the  only  English  book  in 
their  possession,  a  New  Testament  which  she  had  carried 
from  little  Hester's  bedroom  to  Carl's  chapel ;  and  here,  in 
the  street  below,  close  at  the  door,  was  Robert  Waldron 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE.  455 

who  had  seen  her,  knew  her,  and  was  hastening  towards 
her. 

Hester  laid  her  head  do^wn  upon  the  hands  which 
grasped  the  window-sill,  and  felt  an  overwhelming,  unut- 
terable tremor  of  suspense.  She  could  neither  stir  nor 
speak  to  give  warning  to  her  father;  a  vain  warning  it 
would  have  been,  for  already  Robert's  foot  was  upon  the 
winding  staircase  which  led  up  to  their  room.  A  cry  only 
broke  from  her  benumbed  lips  ;  but  it  was  so  smothered, 
that  her  father  did  not  hear  it.  Step  by  step,  each  one 
adding  to  the  intense  strain  upon  her,  came  the  approach- 
ing tread  ;  and  seemed  to  tarry  at  the  door  as  if  to  length- 
en out  her  anguish.  She  heard  her  father  lay  his  book 
down,  and  knew  that  he  was  looking  up  to  see  who  was 
coming.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  they  stood  face  to 
face. 

John  Morley  and  Robert  Waldron  stood  face  to  (ace, 
both  alike  stricken  dumb.  It  was  so  long  since  they  had 
seen  one  another  thus  directly,  and  so  many  changes  had 
passed  over  both,  that  they  recognized  each  other  more  by 
intuition  than  by  positive  recollection.  There  was  so 
much  also  to  be  uttered  by  each  of  them  that  speech 
seemed  altogether  insufficient  and  powerless.  They  looked 
into  one  another's  eyes,  and  no  other  gaze  read  the  change- 
ful, lamentable  story  of  the  past,  as  it  flitted  across  their 
memories,  and  looked  out  in  mournful  glances  at  each 
other's  face.  Hester  did  not  dare  to  lift  her  head,  and 
look  at  them.  She  was  waiting  shrinkingly,  to  catch  the 
first  word. 

"  You  have  pursued  and  found  me  !  "  cried  John  Mor- 
ley at  last,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  clearly  and  coldly 
through  the  room,  and  fell  in  icy  tones  upon  her  ear. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  harm  you  !  "  said  Robert 
Waldron,  in  tremulous  accents.     "  I  come  as  your  friend." 


456  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

*' Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  forme?"  asked 
John  Morley  again,  after  a  long  pause,  as  if  both  had  ex- 
hausted themselves  in  the  utterance  of  the  first  few  words. 
"Let  me  tell  you  what  you  have  done.  I  loved  Rose  a:i  1 
never  loved  Hester's  mother.  I  loved  her  with  infatuation  ; 
with  idolatry  ;  against  the  voice  of  my  conscience,  against 
the  voice  of  the  church,  against  the  inward  voice  of  God. 
I  knew  she  would  bring  no  strength,  no  real  joy  to  me,  yet 
I  loved  her.  I  loved  as  Adam  loved  Eve,  when  he  barter- 
ed paradise  and  righteousness  for  her.  You  never  loved 
her  one-half,  one  tenth  as  much." 

"  1  never  loved  her  at  all,"  muttered  Robert,  uncon- 
scious of  his  own  words. 

"She  might  have  learned  to  love  me,"  he  continued, 
mournfully,  "  she  would  at  least  have  remained  faithful  to 
me,  if  you  had  not  come  between  us.  Because  she  was 
very  fair  to  look  upon,  and  facile  to  temptation,  you  tempt- 
ed her,  and  I  lost  her.  Yet  you  say  you  never  loved 
her !  " 

"  I  was  no  better  than  a  boy,"  answered  Robert,  urging 
the  plea  that  had  often  soothed  himself. 

"  A  boy  !  "  exclaimed  John  Morley,  with  a  life-time  of 
agony  in  bis  voice  ;  ''  a  boy  !  and  Rose  gave  me  up  for 
you  !  Yet  I  know  not  which  love  was  the  greater  sin, 
yours  or  mine.  I  lavished  upon  her  an  inordinate  love. 
We  both  wronged  the  feeble  creature  by  our  passion,  you 
and  I." 

"If  it  be  possible  for  you  to  forgive  me,"  cried  Robert, 
"  forgive  me  now." 

"  Forgive  you  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  ay,  I  have  forgiven 
you  both.  God  knows  I  forgave  her  before  I  found  that 
she  was  dead." 

"  She  is  not  dead,"  said  Robert,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  which 
almost  failed  him.     Low  as  it  was,  it  reached  Hester's  ear, 


IX    THE    SUNSHINE.  437 

and  she  turned  quickly  round  tc  see  his  face.  How 
changed  he  was !  how  little  like  the  gay,  self-pleased 
handsome  man  she  had  last  seen  !  He  was  looking  at  her 
father,  almost  unconscious  of  her  presence,  and  his  expres- 
sion was  one  of  poignant  shame  and  remorse. 

"Not  dead!"  echoed  John  Morley.  "I  laid  her 
down,  as  gently  as  I  could,  upon  her  own  little  sofa,  in 
her  own  room  ;  but  I  tell  you  she  was  dead." 

"We  found  her  there,"'  answered  Robert.  "  Lawson's 
mother  called  Grant  and  me  in,  and  she  lay  there  like  one 
dead  ;  but  there  was  life  yet,  and  she  is  living  now.'' 

"Come  here  to  me,  Hester,"  cried  John  Morley;  "let 
me  hold  your  hand." 

In  an  instant  she  was  at  his  side,  her  arm  about  his 
neck,  and  her  lips  pressed  again  and  again  to  his  face. 
She  could  not  speak  at  first,  in  her  sudden  excess  of  glad- 
ness. Rose  was  not  dead,  not  murdered  ;  and  she  saw 
clearly  how  free  they  were  once  more  to  return  to  England, 
to  go  back  to  Little  Aston,  to  enter  the  old  home  again. 
She  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's  shoulder,  and  sobbed, 
"  Thank  God  !  " 

"  How  can  it  be  } "  said  John  Morley,  in  a  tone  of 
almost  incredulous  wonder. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Robert,  hurriedly  ;  "  the  blow 
had  just  missed  its  most  fatal  aim,  as  it  had  done  with  me. 
You  had  but  barely  failed  to  kill  her,  as  you  missed  mur- 
dering me  two  years  ago." 

"  Me !  "  cried  John  Morley.  "  I  desired  to  injure 
neither  of  you.  "  I  never  lifted  up  my  hand  against  one 
or  the  other." 

Robert  Waldron  made  no  answer ;  he  was  scarcely  sur- 
prised at  John  Morley's  denial  ;  but  Hester  looked  up  into 
her  father's  face,  and  spoke  entreatingly. 

*'  Let  us  speak  openly  to  one  another  now,"  she  urged. 
20 


458  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"  You  remember  the  stranger  whom  Grant  brought  into 
our  house  almost  dead,  about  two  years  ago.  Oh,  you 
knew  who  it  was,  and  who  had  struck  that  frightful  blow  ? 
It  was  Robert  Waldron,  father.  Did  you  not  know  it  was 
Robert  Waldron  ?  " 

"  Stop,"  he  answered,  raising  his  hand  to  his  head  ; 
''  let  me  think  all  this  over  a  little  while." 

They  waited  for  a  minute  or  two  in  unbroken  silence, 
hearing  the  distant  chatter  of  the  laundresses  about  the 
fountain,  and  tliC  tattoo  of  a  drum  being  beaten  at  a  great 
distance  off.  Hester,  had  sunk  down  on  her  knees  be- 
side her  father,  and  rested  her  head  against  his  arm.  She 
could  hardly  endure  the  suspense,  but  she  controlled  her- 
self; while  Robert  stood  by,  patient  and  immovable,  will- 
ing to  give  John  Morley  what  time  he  chose  to  collect  his 
thoughts. 

"I  dare  not  think  of  it  for  long,  even  now,"  he  said, 
his  face,  which  had  taken  a  hue  of  health,  growing  pale 
once  more  ;  "but  listen  to  me,  and  I  will  speak  as  I  would 
speak  before  God.  I  never  knew  till  this  moment  that  you 
had  been  under  my  roof  It  was  well  I  did  not  know. 
You  had  promised  faithfully  that  you  would  never  enter 
the  street  where  I  dwelt." 

"  I  broke  that  promise,"  said  Robert,  as  John  Morley 
paused, 

"  It  never  came  into  my  mind  that  you  could  break  a 
solemn  promise  like  that  ;  the  only  penalty  I  demanded 
from  you.  I.wished  you  no  harm  ;  I  only  wished  to  be 
left  to  my  sorrow  and  dishonor.  How  Rose  came  there  I 
do  not  know  to  this  day.  I  believed  Hester  was  gone  to 
London  to  see  her  dying  ;  and  at  first  a  superstition  came 
across  me.  I  could  not  help  supposing  that  her  spirit  had 
come  back  to  the  home  she  had  so  cruelly  and  shamefully 
abandoned.     How  could  Rose  be  there  in  the  body  ? " 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE. 


459 


"Father"  said  Hester,  "she  was  the  poor  creature  we 
gave  shelter  to  in  the  old  nursery.  She  came  to  me  one 
night  as  I  lett  the  chapel,  poor,  homeless,  very  ill,  without 
hope  in  the  world  ;  and  1  remembered  the  promise  you 
made  me  take  long  ago,  before  you  married  her,  that  I 
would  be  as  her  very  own  child  to  her.  Don't  you  recol- 
lect ?     What  else  could  I  do  for  her  ?  " 

"  Recollect  I  "  said  John  Morley  ;  "  ay,  I  recollect.  I 
understand  it  all  now." 

"  I  did  right !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Right  I  "  he  repeated,  laying  his  hand  fondly  on  her 
head  ;  "  you  are  always  right,  my  daughter." 

"We  will  talk  about  it  at  another  time,"  he  continued, 
after  a  brief  silence.  "  It  is  too  painful  for  me  still.  You 
say  that  she  is  aliv'e,  that  no  murder  has  been  committed 
at  all.     Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"She  is  at  home,"  answered  Robert,  and  John  Morley 
shook  a  little  at  the  words  ;  "  we  could  not  move  her  then, 
nor  yet.  She  is  still  very  feeble.  What  would  you  have  had 
us  do  with  her,  when  she  was  on  the  point  of  death  ?  " 

"  That  is  enough,"  he  said  ;  "  leave  us  now." 

Robert  looked  sadly  from  him  to  Hester,  and  from 
Hester  to  him  again.  They  were  occupied  with  one 
another,  and  could  spare  no  thought  for  him.  ^^'hatever 
they  had  to  say  to  each  other,  whatever  resolves  and  plans 
they  might  make,  they  wished  to  do  it  in  his  absence.  He 
felt  a  vehement  yearning  to  touch  Hester's  hand,  to  see 
her  look  at  him  once  more,  and  to  hear  her  speak  to  him  ; 
but  she  was  clinging  to  her  father,  looking  into  his  face, 
and  speaking  to  him  broken  woids  of  gladness.  He  found 
that  he  had  no  right  there  any  longer,  though  he  had  been 
the  messenger  of  the  glad  tidings ;  and  with  a  quiet  fare- 
well, which  scarcely  fell  upon  their  inattentive  ears,  he  lef* 
them  alone  with  one  another  and  their  new  iov. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN. 

1  >  OBERT  WALDRON  lingered  a  day  or  two,  loung- 
J.  i.  ing  about  the  dull  little  town,  but  not  daring  to  force 
hif-  self  again  into  the  presence  of  John  Morley,  unless  he 
ga\ :;  some  sign  that  a  second  interview  would  be  welcome. 
He  had  expected  that  they  would  have  returned  at  once  to 
England,  but  no  places  were  taken  in  the  diligence  ;  and 
he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave  them  there  with 
an  Ui. certainty  as  to  what  they  meant  to  do.  He  wished 
to  sci?  Hester  alone,  but  now  she  accompanied  her  father 
ever}'where  he  went.  The  sultry  heat  of  the  summer  was 
quite  gone,  and  the  clear  bright  autumn  air  breathed  fresh 
exhilaration  into  veins  which  had  grown  languid  through 
the  fervor  of  the  sunshine.  Robert  could  see  them  from 
his  window  at  the  hotel  whenever  they  quitted  the  house: 
John  Morley,  with  a  new  vigor  and  strength,  his  white  head 
held  erect,  his  tread  firm  and  steady;  and  Hester,  herself 
again,  yet  more  than  her  former  self,  hopeful,  bright,  and 
courageous,  ready  to  face  any  future,  now  that  the  heavy 
pressure  of  exile  was  passing  awa}'.  What  could  they  be 
about  to  do?  He  was  undergoing  a  sore  travail  of  heart, 
crucifying  his  best  and  most  cherished  hope.  The  gulf 
between  him  and  Hester  was  too  wide  now,  even  to  his 
own  eyes,  for  it  ever  to  be  bridged  over ;  and  he  was  striv- 
ing lo  look  across  it,  with  a  willingness  to  see  her  happy  in 
an  Eden  to  which  he  could  find  no  entrance. 


WHAT    MIGHT   HAVE    BEEN.  46 1 

At  last  he  bethought  himself  that  he  must  go.  'l"he 
Hester  who  belonged  to  him  was  pining  away  in  Little 
Aston,  and  he  knew  that  she  would  soon  be  lost  to  him 
forever.  Every  hour  that  he  wasted  here,  he  lost  some 
small  tender  trace  of  his  child's  character,  which  would  be 
all  that  remained  to  him  of  her  in  a  little  while.  Carl 
would  be  with  her,  he  thought,  bitterly,  and  Carl  was  loved 
more  dearly  than  he  was.  Yet  for  his  own  sake  he  should 
be  near  her,  to  work  out  the  whole  of  the  heavy  penance. 
But  he  could  not  leave  without  one  effort  to  see  Hester 
again,  and  to  ask  if  he  could  render  no  help  to  her  or  her 
father.  Fortunately  he  saw  John  Alorley  start  out  alone, 
the  third  evening  after  his  interview  with  him,  and  make 
his  way  towards  the  rock  which  overlooked  the  town  ;  and 
in  a  few  minutes  afterwards  he  presented  himself  at  the 
widow  Limet's  door. 

The  widow  Limet  was  giving  Hester  a  lesson  in  spin- 
ning, in  the  dark  cool  room  at  the  back  of  her  shop,  and 
the  burr  of  the  wheel  made  his  step  inaudible.  He  trod 
cautiously,  and  looked  in  through  the  half-open  door  for 
some  time,  glad  to  see  Hester,  while  he  remained  unseen. 
Her  face  had  caught  a  tinge  of  color,  the  rich  bloom  of  a 
warm  climate,  and  her  eyes  had  brightened  from  their  long 
period  of  gloom.  She  smiled  more  readily  and  talked 
more  gayly,  but  still  with  an  air  of  gravity,  as  if  laughter 
had  been  too  long  a  stranger  to  her  lips  to  play  about  them' 
as  about  other  girhsh  faces.  He  fancied,  but  it  could  only 
have  been  fancy,  that  she  had  borrowed  some  of  the 
coquettish  graces  of  the  countrywomen  about  her ;  her 
dress,  the  slight  toss  of  her  pretty  head,  the  movement  of 
her  little  foot  upon  the  treadle,  her  whole  attitude,  had 
just  the  touch  of  careless,  consciousness  of  beauty  which 
was  the  only  charm  she  had  needed.  He  knew  now  how 
well  she  would  have  played  her  part  in  his  life  of  luxury 


462  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

and  elegance  ;  and  he  stood  watching  her,  his  heart  con- 
tracting with  a  very  bitter  regret  when  the  widow  Limet 
caught  sight  of  him,  and  betrayed  his  presence  by  a  little 
vivacious  shriek. 

"  I  am  about  to  return  to  England,"  he  said,  advancing 
with  the  pleasant  graciousness  of  manner  which  he  had  at 
command;  "and  I  called  to  inquire  if  mademoiselle  or 
her  father  have  any  commission  there.  For  heaven's  sake, 
Hester,"  he  added,  addressing  her  in  English,  "let  me 
speak  to  you  once  more  before  I  go.  I  cannot  leave  you 
thus." 

"  You  can  speak  to  me  here,"  she  answered ;  "no  one 
will  understand  you  but  me." 

She  had  pushed  aside  her  spinning-wheel,  and  risen  to 
offer  him  her  hand,  which  he  had  not  touched  for  so  long 
a  time,  and  which  he  held  in  his  like  a  treasure  he  would 
not  willingly  relinquish,  though  he  was  compelled  to  pre- 
serve an  outward  calmness. 

"Come  at  least  with  me  into  yonder  garden,"  he  urged. 
"  I  cannot  speak  to  you  freely,  and  I  dare  not  look  at  you 
while  this  woman  is  standing  by." 

The  garden  was  a  small  square  space,  inclosed  on  every 
side,  with  the  high  wall  of  a  convent  at  the  end  throwing 
one  half  of  it  into  shadow  ;  a  little  green  secluded  spot, 
left  to  the  wild  luxuriance  of  growth  under  those  warm 
skies.  Without  a  word,  Hester  stepped  out  of  the  dark 
room  into  the  glow  of  the  evening  sun,  walking  at  his  side 
with  a  measured  step,  and  a  grave  set  face,  looking  steadily 
forwards,  without  a  glance  up  into  his  eyes. 

"You  hate  me,  Hester,"  he  said.  It  was  his  first  and 
chief  thought  when  he  saw  how  quickly  her  sunny  grace 
had  tied  at  the  sight  of  him. 

"  No,"  she  answered  gently,  but  without  raising  Iiei 
eyes  to  his  as  he  had  honed  ;  "  no  I  could  never  hate  y^»o  " 


WHAT    MIGiri     1IA\  i:    WEES.  463 

"  Yet  it  is  I  who  have  brought  all  the  sorrow  into  youi 
life,"  he  continued. 

*'Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Then  you  must  hate  me,"  he  persisted.  "  If  I  had 
never  lived,  if  I  had  died  years  ago,  your  life  v.ould  have 
been  as  smooth  as  the  life  of  other  girls.' 

"  Yes,"  said  Hester. 

"  Yet  you  loved  me  once,"  he  went  on.  "  Do  you 
remember  how  you  sat  on  a  footstool  at  my  feet,  holding 
my  hand  in  yours,  and  slipped  off  my  ring  to  try  it  on  your 
own  little  fingers?     It  is  Ihis  same  ring,  Hester.'" 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  bent  her 
eyes  for  a  moment  upon  the  diamonds  flashing  in  the  sun- 
light;  but  she  looked  away  again  steadily  and  sadly,  her 
lips  trembling,  and  a  nervous  quivering  in  her  half-closed 
eyelids. 

"  Do  you  remember  it?"  he  asked,  thinking,  not  of  the 
ring,  but  of  the  love  she  had  borne  for  him. 

*•  I  remember  it  well,"  she  murmured. 

"  My  God !  what  a  miserable  fool  I  have  been  ! "  he 
cried,  bitterly.     "You  loved  me  then,  little  Hetty." 

"Yes,"  she  said  ;  "dearly." 

'•  Dearly  ! "'  he  echoed  ;  "  she  loved  me  dearly  ;  and  it 
might  have  been,  it  might  possibly  have  been,  that  she 
would  have  grown  up  loving  me  with  her  true,  tender, 
faithful  heart.     Would  that  have  been  possible?" 

'•Yes,"  she  answered,  her  voice  faltering,  and  the  tears 
standing  in  her  steadfast  eyes.  Robert  Waldron's  passion, 
and  the  pain  born  of  it,  had  been  poignant  enough  before  ; 
but  now  it  had  reached  a  point  when  all  further  pain  is 
akin  to  rapture.  His  martyrdom  was  awakening  within 
him  a  heroism  which  was  stirring  with  sharp  blissful  pangs 
of  life  through  his  whole  spirit.      Hester  fixed  her  search 


46_}  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

ing  yet  tender  gaze  upon  him,  with  no  deepening  color  on 
lier  cheeks,  or  look  of  shyness  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  loved  you  dearly,  and  I 
can  never  hate  you.  I  will  not  pretend  to  misunderstand 
you.  You  wish  to  know  if  that  little  child's  love  would 
have  grown  with  my  growth,  had  no  barrier  of  your  own 
raising  come  between  us.  I  think  it  would.  If  there  be 
any  consolation  or  strength  to  you  in  the  thought,  I  knovv 
that  I  should  have  loved  you.  Let  that  suffice  for  you. 
Be  sure  that  I  can  never,  never  hate  you." 

Was  it  any  consolation  to  him?  It  was  a  pain  so 
exquisite  at  the  moment,  that  he  could  not  have  answered 
the  question  to  himself  They  strolled  together  along  the 
grassy  walk  of  the  garden,  he  wondering  what  words  from 
his  lips  or  hers  would  next  stir  the  quiet  air  which  seemed 
listening  to  them.  The  convent-bell  rang  for  vespers,  and 
a  little  babble  of  women's  voices  in  the  convent-garden 
followed  it. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  "  I 
will  make  myself  worthy  of  the  love  that  might  have  been. 
Give  me  but  one  token  of  that  old,  childish  love  of  3'ours." 

"What  token  can  I  give  you?"  she  asked,  her  clear 
eyes  meeting  his,  frankly. 

"This  ring,"  he  answered,  "which  you  have  so  often 
slipped  on  to  your  own  finger,  let  me  put  it  on  your  hand 
now,  and  wear  it  for  the  sake  of  what  might  have  been. 
Nay,  I  do  not  wish  to  trouble  or  frighten  you,  my  darling. 
Do  not  turn  away  from  me." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  answered,  giving  him 
her  hand,  which  he  held  in  his  own  for  a  moment  or  two, 
as  he  tried  the  ring  upon  her  fingers,  wondering  all  the 
while  if  it  could  be  true  that  he  was  shut  in  there,  in  the 
small,  sunny,  silent  garden,  with  no  one  near  to  him  but 
Plester,  and  yet  that  for  his  very  life  he  dare  not  press  to 


AVHAT    MIGHT    IIAVK    BEEN.  465 

his  lips  the  small  hand  on  which  he  left  his  ring.  Hester 
was  looking  at  him,  not  at  it. 

"  Nows"  he  said,  pushing  back  his  disordered  hair 
from  his  burning  forehead,  "let  me  tell  you  all  that  I  have 
to  say  to  you.  Sit  down  here  beside  me,  for  I  have  very 
much  to  say." 

She  sat  down  at  his  side  on  a  bank  of  turf  under  one 
of  the  walls,  and  he  told  her  all  that  had  befallen  him 
from  the  moment  when  Lawson's  mother  summoned  him 
and  Grant  to  the  help  of  Rose.  He  spoke  very  mourn- 
fully of  his  little  child. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  sobbed  Hester,  laying  her 
hand,  upon  which  glistened  his  ring,  on  his  arm. 

"  I  must  go  home  to-morrow,"  he  said  ;  "  and  you, 
Hester,  when  shall  you  come?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  ;  "my  father  and  I  have 
talked  about  it  these  three  days,  but  he  cannot  resolve  to 
return  to  the  old  life.  You  see  how  changed  he  is .'  How 
could  he  go  back  to  his  gloomy  work,  which  is  no  real 
work  at  all,  but  a  dreary  idleness?  Yet  we  must  go  back 
some  time." 

"You  wish  to  come  home,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  heart  1  "  cried  Hester,  clasping  her 
hands  with  girlish  earnestness. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  "  I  am  much  older  than  you.  You 
may  speak  to  me  as  you  would  speak  to  my  father,  or 
yours.     Do  you  love  Carl  Bramwell?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  her  face  flushing  into  a  deep 
crimson. 

"  God  bless  you  both  !  "  said  Robert,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  You  will  be  very  happy.  Yes,  you  must  come 
home  again,  and  it  must  be  soon.  Leave  it  to  me,  Hester. 
Do  not  be  troubled  by  your  Either  staying  here  a  while 
lonjrer." 


466  HESTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

He  loitered  yet  a  few  minutes,  with  Hester  beside  him, 
but  neither  of  them  said  many  words.  Then  she  trod  step 
by  step  with  him  down  the  soft  grassy  walk  and  through 
the  house,  standing  at  the  door  to  look  after  him  as  he 
went  his  lonely  way  down  the  street.  He  turned  to  see 
her,  and  lifted  his  hat  to  her,  with  a  forced  smile  which  she 
was  toe  far  off  to  catch. 

"  It  is  very  hard  upon  me !  "  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
groan. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

GOOD    NEWS   FOR   CARL. 

JOHN  MORLEY  had  desired  to  be  alone,  that  he 
might  confront  a  thought  which  had  been  haunting 
him  ever  since  he  had  learned  that  Rose  was  not  dead. 
His  mind  was  no  longer  warped  and  blinded.  With  the 
vigor  which  had  returned  to  his  frame,  there  had  come  a 
clearness  of  judgment  to  his  reason.  Yet  the  sudden  news 
that  Rose  lived  had  probed  the  old  wound  to  its  depths. 
As  long  as  he  had  believed  her  dead  his  pardon  of  her 
transgression  against  him  had  been  simple.  Now  a  serious 
complication  came  into  it.  She  was  alive,  and  dwelling  in 
the  home  she  had  forsaken. — the  home  to  which  he  must 
soon  return.  His  duty  to  Hester  required  that  he  should 
not  keep  her  in  this  exile,  to  which  she  resigned  herself 
through  devotion  to  him.  That  his  daughter  loved  Carl 
was  apparent  to  him,  and  he  had  but  little  doubt  that  Carl 
loved  her.  Even  if  Robert  Waldron  did  not  disclose  the 
secret  of  their  hiding  place,  which  need  be  kept  as  a  secret 
no  longer,  it  was  his  duty  to  return  to  his  own  town,  and 
appear  again  among  his  townsmen.  But  Rose  was  there  ! 
And  there  too  was  the  dreary  life  which  had  fallen  from 
him  suddenly  as  a  burden  loosened  from  his  weary  shoul- 
ders. Must  he  stoop  to  pick  it  up  again  ?  Must  he  keep 
Rose  in  his  house  and  upon  his  hearth  ?  He  could  not  d<? 
that.  He  felt  that  though  he  might  forgive  her;  though hvi 
did  forgive  her  with  all  his  heart  ;  though  there  was  still  in 


468  iIl•:sT^:l^L  morlf-y's  pkomisk, 

the  depths  of  his  nature  a  profound  passion  for  his  young 
wife  who  had  been  unfaithful  to  him  ;  he  could  never  suffer 
her  again  to  be  to  him  what  Hester's  mother  had  been. 
There  was  an  awful  sadness  in  this.  Rose  dead  had  not 
been  to  him  the  terrible  grief  which  Rose  living  would  be. 
If  he  returned,  he  must  look  upon  her  fair  face  again,  lis- 
ten to  her  sweet  voice,  be  shaken  like  a  reed  before  her  ; 
yet  put  her  away  inexorably,  against  all  tears,  all  plead- 
ings, all  contrition.  He  could  not  ask  Hester  what  he 
must  do.  How  could  his  daughter  understand  this  ? 
There  was  no  alternative  offered  to  him,  except  the  selfish 
one  of  staying  where  he  was  in  this  pleasant  retreat.  But 
that  would  be  unjust  to  Hester,  whose  home-sickness  was 
known  to  him.  A  sharp  conflict,  quickly  ended,  was 
fought  in  his  spirit.  When  he  returned  to  the  house  of 
the  widow  Limet,  he  told  Hester  that  they  would  start  for 
England  in  a  few  days. 

During  the  three  past  days  Hester  and  her  father  had 
had  many  confidential  conversations.  The  mystery  of  the 
attack  made  upon  Robert,  and  the  similar  one  by  which 
Rose  had  well-nigh  perished,  had  been  fully  discussed 
between  them.  It  had  not  been  any  mystery  to  Hester 
until  now.  She  had  been  as  fully  convinced  as  Grant  and 
Robert,  that  her  father  had  been  the  stealthy  assailant  in 
the  first  instance  ;  and  there  had  been  scarcely  a  doubt 
upon  her  mind  that  he  had  also  attacked  Rose  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  madness  and  despair  which  had  made  him  un- 
conscious of  his  own  deed.  But  now  that  he  emphatically 
mantained  his  innocence,  and  narrated  circumstantially 
the  details  of  his  finding  of  Rose  already  dead,  as  he  sup- 
posed, she  could  not  withhold  her  credence.  By  repeated 
and  strenuous  efforts  of  his  memory,  the  recollection  came 
back  to  him  of  having  heard  Lawson  closing  the  side-door 
which  gave  him  access  to  his  work-rooms,  and  this  he  told 


GOOD    NEWS    FOR    CARL.  .  469 

to  Hester.  He  had  not  been  alone  in  th'e  house  then. 
Lawson  had  been  there  ;  and  it  must  have  been  he  who 
had  been  the  secret  and  vindictive^  foe.  No  one  knew  as 
she  did  the  profound  hatred  Rose  had  aroused  in  him,  even 
before  her  marriage  with  his  master.  To  no  one  else  had 
he  displayed  it.  There  came  back  to  her  mind  his  wild, 
half-crazy  denunciations  of  her  ;  his  superstitious  visions  of 
her  own  mother's  presence,  which  had  ceased  when  Rose 
usurped  her  place  in  the  household.  The  criminal  could 
be  no  other  than  Lawson. 

But  Robert  on  his  part  was  speeding  away  for  England, 
with  his  conviction  in  no  way  shaken  that  it  was  John 
Morley's  hand  which  had  been  lifted  up  against  himself 
and  Rose.  His  denial  of  the  crime  seemed  perfectly  natu- 
ral, and  almost  justifiable,  to  him  ;  it  had  been  quiet  and 
brief,  a  mere  parenthesis  in  a  conversation.  Besides,  he 
was  convinced  he  had  no  other  enemy,  not  merely  in  Little 
Aston,  but  in  all  England  itself.  He  still  considered  him- 
self as  having  been  placed  more  on  a  level  with  John  Mor- 
ley  by  this  double  attempt  at  revenge.  He  did  not  see  any 
reason  why,  where  there  was  so  much  mutually  to  forgive, 
John  Morley  could  not  be  fully  reconciled  to  his  penitent 
wife.  They  must  leave  Litde  Aston,  of  course  ;  but  Lon- 
don would  afford  them  a  residence,  where  their  former  life 
would  be  altogether  unknown.  It  was  in  his  father's  pow- 
er to  procure  a  post  as  secretary  or  librarian  for  John  Mor- 
ley ;  and  they  could  live  somewhere  near  Carl  and  Hester, 
and  be  very  happy  after  all.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  doom- 
ed to  pay  the  heaviest  penalty  himself. 

He  reached  Little  Aston  towards  the  close  of  the  sec- 
ond day,  having  stopped  nowhere  on  his  journey.  Grant's 
house  was  on  his  way  to  Aston  Court,  and  he  turned  in  to 
see  his  little  Hester  for  a  minute.  It  was  a  week  since  he 
had  left  her,  and  consumption  takes  rapid  strides  some- 


470  •     HESTER   MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

times.  He  was  afraid  to  inquire  from  the  servant  how  the 
child  was,  but  passed  on  quickly  to  the  room  where  he  had 
seen  her  last.  It  was  empty.  Even  the  cushions  and  pil- 
lows, which  had  been  piled  up  on  the  sofa  to  make  it  softer 
for  her  feeble  little  frame,  had  been  removed,  as  if  she  no 
longer  occupied  this  place.  His  heart  contracted  with  a  terri- 
ble dread.  The  fatherly  instinct,  so  strong  in  Mr.  Waldron, 
had  been  quickly  and  strongly  developed  in  himself.  How 
dear  the  child  had  been  to  him,  how  firm  and  close  a  hold 
she  had  laid  upon  his  affection,  he  had  scarcely  known  till 
this  moment.  He  turned  sharply  round  and  demanded 
where  Mrs.  Grant  was.  She  was  up  stairs  in  the  room 
which  had  formerly  been  Carl's  study.  Robert  hastened 
there,  and  entered  it  abruptly. 

Annie  was  not  in  the  room,  but  Carl  was  there,  looking 
pale  and  suffering,  his  eyes  wearing  an  expression  of  a  con- 
tinual anxiety.  He  was  standing  at  the  window,  which 
faced  westward,  watching  the  sun  set,  but  not  really  seeing 
it ;  for  his  troubled  thoughts  were  far  away  from  any  ob- 
ject his  gaze  rested  upon.  He  turned  as  Robert  entered, 
and  came  forward  to  greet  him. 

"  Where  is  Hester,"  asked  Robert,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  Hester  ! "  cried  Carl.  "  How  can  I  tell  ?  Would  to 
God  I  knew." 

"  But  my  little  Hetty,"  said  Robert ;  "  you  know  where 
she  is,  Carl.     She  is  not  dead  !  " 

"  No,''  answered  Carl,  with  a  look  of  profound  sympa- 
thy ;  "  your  little  girl  is  not  dead.  She  is  living  still  ;  but 
we  have  taken  her  to  her  mother.  She  pined  to  go  to  her,  as 
soon  as  she  knew  she  was  in  this  neighborhood  ;  and  Rose 
entreated  to  have  her.  She  is  gone  to  die  in  John  Mor- 
ley's  house." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Robert ;  "  then  I  canno* 
see  her,  I  cannot  nurse  her  again." 


GOOD    NEWS   FOR    CARL.  47 1 

He  fc;lt  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  him  to 
visit  John  Morley's  house  with  Rose  in  it  ;  to  watch  with 
her  the  child's  coming  death.  How  could  he  bear  to  face 
Rose  in  the  presence  of  their  dying  child  ?  No  ;  he  had 
lost  the  little  creature,  so  lately  found,  whose  life  had  been 
cold  and  desolate  through  his  sin.  He  felt  a  momentary 
anger  that  they  should  have  stolen  her  away  from  him, 
during  his  absence  ;  but  it  died  away  as  Carl  spoke  again. 

"  I  thought  of  that,"  he  said  ;  "  but  what  else  could  we 
do  ?  The  mother's  claim  is  the  strongest.  She  has  been 
a  living  child  for  Rose  these  many  years  ;  you  have  known 
her  only  a  few  months.  Besides,  Hetty  pined  and  grieved 
about  it.  She  would  not  have  been  living  now  if  we  had 
not  yielded.  You  were  gone,  and  we  did  not  know  when 
you  might  return." 

It  was  done,  and  could  not  be  undone,  even  if  he  had 
wished  it.  She  was  as  surely  separated  from  him,  for  the 
short  period  that  still  remained  of  her  life,  as  if  the  grave 
had  closed  over  her.  Yet  Carl  had  acted  well  ;  had  done 
precisely  what  a  true  and  tender  nature  dictated.  He 
could  not  blame  him.  No  reproval  could  fall  upon  any  ont 
except  himself 

"  Carl,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence,  "  I  have  found 
Hester." 

"Hester?"  he  cried  again,  starting  violently,  anc 
grasping  Robert's  arm.  "  What  did  you  say  ?  You  have 
found  Hester?" 

"Yes,  Hester  and  John  Morley,"  he  answered,  almost 
reluctantly. 

Carl  could  not  articulate  a  syllable,  but  gazed  with 
mingled  incredulity  and  beseeching  into  Robert's  face. 
He  could  not  believe  his  own  ears  ;  yet  there  came  a  chilly 
recollection  across  him  of  Lawson's  words,  "  I  have  a  no- 
tion that  Robert  Waldron  knows  where  she  is."     Now  he 


472  HESTER    MiiRl.EV  S    PRuMlSE. 

said  that  he  had  found  them  !  He  had  been  absent  foi  a 
week,  and  had  seen  Hester !  Carl  scarcely  knew  whether 
to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  or  cast  himself  upon  his  knees 
before  him,  to  extort  this  precious  knowledge  from  him. 
He  knew  where  Hester  was  ;  she  who  as  truly  belonged  to 
him  as  if  he  had  secured  her  troth.  For  did  she  not  belong 
to  him  ?  What  right  had  this  rich,  prosperous  man,  the 
favorite  of  the  world  and  of  fortune,  to  come  between  him 
and  her }  Was  not  every  principle  of  justice  and  fitness 
opposed  to  the  possibility  of  his  possessing  Hester .-'  Hard- 
ly a  moment  had  passed  since  Robert  had  uttered  his  re- 
luctant tidings,  and  these  thoughts  had  only  flashed 
through  Carl's  brain,  when  he  spoke  again  more  freely  and 
heartily. 

"  I  discovered  where  they  were  from  a  hint  dropped  by 
Lawson's  mother,  who  knew  nothing  herself  of  their  place 
of  concealment.  They  fled  to  her  native  place,  a  little 
town  in  Burgundy.  I  went  there  to  make  sure  that  my 
guess  was  correct ;  and  found  myself  right.  Of  course 
they  had  never  heard  any  news  from  England,  and  heaven 
knows  how  long  they  might  have  hidden  there,  for  John 
Morley  had  no  idea  but  that  Rose  was  dead.  He  de- 
nies the  crime,  and  he  denies  ever  striking  me  ;  but  then 
why  did  he  flee  ?  He  is  not  quite  sane  yet.  He  is  unwill- 
ng  to  return  to  England,  though  Hester  suffers  from  her 
ong  trouble.  She  is  home-sick  ;  you  can  see  it  plainly  ; 
and  she  is  longing  to  come  back." 

"  I  must  go  to  them,"  interrupted  Carl,  taking  a  stride 
towards  the  door,  as  if  he  would  set  ofl"  the  same  instant. 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  said  Robert,  in  an  accent  of  re- 
lief and  regret.  "  Yes  ;  go.  You  will  prevail  with  him, 
and  take  care  of  her.  But  stay  ;  I  must  give  you  fuller  di- 
rections as  to  how  you  are  to  find  them  ;  and  you  cannot 


GOOD    NEWS    rol-1    CARL.  473 

leave  here  before  the  first  train  in  the  morning.     What  a 
happy  fellow  you  are  I  '' 

He  uttered  the  last  words  with  a  smile,  sadder  than 
many  tears  are.  Carl  was  arrested  and  quieted  by  it.  He 
descended  from  the  height  of  his  own  unexpected  joy  to 
enter  into  the  desolation  and  loneliness  of  Robert  Wal- 
dron.  They  talkea  together  until  long  after  the  sun  had 
gone  down ;  and  then  parted  with  a  friendship  between 
them  which  would  last  their  life-time. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

TO    BURGUNDY. 

WITH  Roberts  very  minute  directions,  and  with  the 
certainty  of  finding  Hester  at  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney, Carl  felt  no  sort  of  hesitation  or  embarrassment  at 
the  idea  of  passing  through  a  country,  the  language  of 
which  was  altogether  unfamiliar  to  him.  He  knew  two  or 
three  dead  languages,  but  he  had  no  practical  knowledge 
of  French,  and  could  not  comprehend  a  word  addressed  to 
him  by  any  of  his  fellow-passengers,  or  the  railway  officials  ; 
but  as  far  as  Paris  his  ignorance  did  not  prove  inconveni- 
ent. He  crossed  the  Channel  and  sped  up  to  Paris  as 
swiftly  as  steamers  and  railways  could  take  him  ;  but  it 
appeared  the  slowest  mode  of  transit  it  had  ever  been  his 
lot  to  experience.  An  interpreter  accompanied  the  train 
and  expedited  his  passage  through  Paris  to  the  Lyons 
Railway  Station,  from  which  was  the  line  running  through 
Burgundy.  He  knew  how  long  it  would  be  before  he 
could  reach  the  small  station,  which  Robert  had  described 
to  him,  and  where  he  would  find  a  diligence  plainly  in- 
scribed with  the  word  "  Ecquemonville."  He  would  have 
nothing  to  do  but  seat  himself  in  it,  put  six  francs  into  the 
hand  of  the  driver;  and  there  would  be  no  longer  any  diffi 
culty  to  surmount  in  fulfilling  his  mission.  After  that  Hes- 
ter would  be  his  interpreter.  But  if  there  had  been  a  thou- 
sand difficulties,  multiplied  by  a  thousand  dangers,  he  was 
ready  to  confront  them  all  to  find  her  at  the  end  of  them. 


Tu    BURGUNDY.  475 

The  country  through  which  he  was  passing  received  but 
small  attention  from  him  ;  though  now  and  then  he  started, 
as  if  aroused  from  a  slight  slumber,  to  give  a  brief  glance 
at  the  long  valleys,  and  broad  table-lands  he  was  travers- 
ing. He  promised  himself  to  survey  them  more  carefully 
on  his  return,  when  Hester  and  her  father  were  with  him. 
One  question  agitated  him  very  greatly,  ^^■as  it  true  that 
John  Morley  was  innocent  of  any  attempt  to  avenge  him- 
self either  upon  Rose  or  Robert  Waldron  ?  So  far  as  his  lia- 
bility to  earthly  judgment  and  punishment  was  concerned, 
he  ran  no  risk  of  being  called  upon  to  expiate  his  crime. 
Circumstances  had  singularly  favored  the  criminal.  But 
Carl  longed  to  believe  that  the  hand  of  Hester's  father  was 
free  from  every  stain.  His  mind  was  tossed  from  one 
thought  to  another  in  a  tumult  of  hope  and  apprehension, 
until  he  found  that  the  train  began  to  slacken  speed  at  the 
time  when  they  should  be  approaching  the  station  where 
he  was  to  alight. 

The  train  had  been  shunted  into  a  siding  to  wait  until 
another,  bound  for  Paris,  had  started  from  the  little  station. 
It  was  passing  them  slowly,  and  his  glance,  now  on  the 
a4ert,  fell  upon  the  last  compartment  of  a  second-class  car- 
riage, as  it  glided  by.  There  sat — he  could  not  by  any 
chance  be  mistaken — John  Morley,  but  erect,  vigorous,  and 
sun-burnt,  with  an  unwonted  energy  in  his  face,  and  beside 
him  was  Hester,  whose  full  face,  he  could  not  see  as  it  was 
turned  towards  her  father,  but  whose  delicate  profile  was 
too  familiar  to  him  ever  to  be  forgotten.  An  instant  only 
did  this  vision  of  her  last,  for  the  train  was  getting  up  its 
speed,  and  almost  as  he  saw  her  she  was  lost  to  his  sight 
again. 

Carl's  first  impulse  was  to  thrust  himself  half  out  of  the 
window,  and  to  shout  after  the  receding  train  ;  but  he  re- 
strained   himself,   and  waited  until    his  carriage-door  was 


4;6  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

unlocked.  Without  doubt  this  was  the  station  he  had 
booked  for  ;  the  ticket  was  taken  from  him,  and  he  alighted 
mechanically.  He  stood  motionless,  gazing  down  the  long 
straight  line  of  railway,  narrowing  to  a  vanishing  point  at 
a  great  distance  off,  along  which  he  could  yet  see  the  film 
of  smoke  folding  away  into  the  blue  air.  A  few  other  trav- 
ellers had  descended  from  the  train,  but  they  did  not  dis- 
perse hastily  as  in  England.  They  lingered  instead,  star- 
ing hard  at  this  handsome  young  foreigner,  who  stood  im- 
movable in  an  attitude  of  dismay.  When  Carl  awoke  to 
his  ludicrous  position,  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  country-people,  whose  eyes  and  mouths  were  wide 
open,  and  seemed  little  likely  to  close  again. 

He  lifted  his  hat  from  his  beating  temples,  to  let  the 
cool  air  play  about  them ;  and  the  Frenchmen,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  politeness,  removed  theirs,  standing  round  him 
bareheaded  in  the  glowing  sunshine.  Carl  was  half  beside 
himself  with  disappointment  and  embarrassment. 

"Is  there  nobody  here  that  can  speak  English?"  he 
exclaimed  pathetically.  This  was  an  utterly  unforeseen 
crisis,  full  of  difficulty  and  anxiety  ;  at  the  moment  he 
would  have  exchanged  all  his  scholarly  knowledge  of  dead 
languages  for  as  good  an  acquaintance  with  colloquial 
French.  Where  was  the  train  that  had  just  disappeared 
bound  for.-*  Was  it  going  to  Paris,  or  was  John  Morley 
carrying  away  Hester  to  some  still  more  obscure  hiding- 
place  than  Ecquemonville  ?  This  last  was  possible,  if  he 
was  not  quite  sane,  and  was  unwilling  to  return  to  Little 
Aston.  Or  perhaps  they  intended  to  go  back  to  Ecque- 
monville. The  driver  of  the  diligence  very  probably  knew 
that,  and  where  they  had  taken  tickets  for;  but  how  could 
he  communicate  with  him  ?  He  was  too  deeply  absorbed 
in  these  reflections  to  care  very  greatly  for  the  unblinking 
eyelids  and  unabashed  stare  of  the  breathless  spectators 


TO   BURGUNDY.  47; 

about  him,  each  one  of  whom  seemed  afraid  he  should  miss 
some  eccentricity  of  the  Englishman's  beliavior. 

^^  How  doyedo  ? ''  said  a  voice  at  Carl's  side,  dwelling 
long  upon  the  first  word  and  running  the  other  three  into 
one.  He  turned  quickly  round  and  saw  a  bright  but  sal- 
low face,  with  black  hair  drawn  tight  from  it,  and  confined 
by  a  pretty  little  white  cap.  The  eyes  meeting  his  were 
dark,  and  smiled  with  a  somewhat  anxious  expression,  as 
the  speaker  awaited  the  effect  of  her  salutation. 

"  Thank  heaven  you  can  speak  English  ! "'  exclaimed 
Carl,  ferventl}-,  taking  the  little  woman's  hand  eagerly  into 
his,  and  looking  down  upon  her  with  a  flush  of  gladness 
upon  his  embarrassed  face. 

"Z^zc  doyedo  .-"'  she  inquired  again,  with  greater  con- 
fidence. 

"  Oh,  quite  well,  thank  you !  "  said  Carl,  rapidly.  "  I 
want  to  know  where  yonder  train  is  going  to  .''  " 

He  pointed  down  the  line,  where  the  last  streak  of 
smoke  was  quickly  vanishing,  and  she  follow'ed  the  direc- 
tion of  his  finger  with  her  bright  eyes,  but  there  was  an 
expression  of  uneasiness  in  them. 

"I  you  no  comprends  no,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head 
anxiously  :  '^  how  do3-edo  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know,"  persisted  Carl,  "  if  that  train  is 
going  to  Paris .''  " 

He  pronounced  the  word  Paris  well  enough  for  her  to 
understand  it,  and  she  caught  at  it  quickly.  But  he  had 
come  direct  from  there,  and  could  not  wisli  to  return,  she 
thought. 

He  continued  pointing  down  the  line,  and  repeating  his 
(Question,  "Is  it  going  to  Paris?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head  emphatically, 
and  afterwards  waving  her  hand  comprehensively  about 
the  surrounding  country,  "  nnn,  non  ;  pas  a  Parish 


478  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

The  audience  were  enjoying  this  unintelligible  interview 
with  great  zest ;  but  Carl's  hope  had  perished  altogether. 
Hester  was  lost  to  him  at  the  very  time  he  had  expected 
to  find  her.  He  sighed  a  heavy  sigh  of  vexation  and  per- 
plexity ;  but  he  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  solicitude  of 
the  little  Frenchwoman,  who  looked  into  his  face  with  an 
ait"  of  disappointment. 

"  How  doyedo  .''  "  she  repeated,  vi'ith  a  desire  to  afford 
him  a  forlorn  comfort  by  her  knowledge  of  his  language. 

He  answered  only  by  another  troubled  smile,  and 
broke  through  the  circle  surrounding  him.  '^i'here  was  a 
time-table  near  the  window  of  the  ticket  office,  and  by  dint 
of  profound  and  repeated  study  Carl  made  sure  that  there 
was  no  train  to  Paris  stopping  at  the  little  station  until  the 
same  hour  the  next  day.  He  pointed  it  out  to  his  new 
friend,  and  made  her  understand  that  he  must  return  to 
Paris  by  that  train.  In  the  meantime  she  took  him  into  her 
charge,  and  conducted  him  to  a  hotel,  where  he  was  enter- 
tained with  the  utmost  hospitality  and  curiosity.  But  he  was 
too  fully  occupied  with  anxious  thoughts  concerning  John 
Morley  and  Hester  to  be  conscious  either  of  kindness  or 
inquisitiveness.  His  anxiety  grew  almost  intolerable  before 
the  moment  came  when  he  seated  himself  in  the  train 
which  was  to  convey  him  back  to  Paris. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

AT  HOME  AGAIN. 

FOUR  days  after  Robert  Waldron  returned  to  Little 
Aston,  John  Morley  and  Hester  Were  on  their  way 
thither.  They  were  going  home  gladly  ;  yet  with  a  solemn 
gladness,  for  a  dark  shadow  fell  across  the  future.  The 
thought  of  Rose  was  upon  both  their  hearts.  How  could 
they  meet  her  ?  In  what  relationship  could  she  stand  to 
them  in  the  future  ?  Even  Hester  felt  the  terrible  weight 
and  difficulty  of  this  question.  She  clung  more  closely  to 
her  father  in  this  time  of  conflict,  and  scarcely  gave  Carl  a 
thought  as  they  were  passing  through  London.  He  left 
all  the  arrangements  of  their  journey  to  her  ;  and  she,  with 
the  intolerance  of  suspense  natural  to  her  years,  would  not 
stop  for  rest  on  the  way.  But  both  of  them  shrank  from 
the  idea  of  being  recognized  at  Little  Aston  station  ;  so 
they  left  the  train  about  two  miles  from  it,  at  a  village 
wheie  neither  of  them  was  known. 

It  was  a  soft,  dark,  soundless  night  of  autumn,  with  no 
breeze  abroad  to  rustle  the  dying  leaves.  The  air  was 
heavy  and  scented,  with  a  languor  in  it  which  oppressed  the 
spirits,  and  caused  Hester  to  sigh  often,  with  a  painful  and 
unconquerable  depression.  All  the  silence  and  utter  still- 
ness, the  muteness  of  the  quiet  hedgerows,  where  the  birds 
uttered  no  sleepy  chirp  as  they  do  in  spring  and  summer 
when  a  footfall  disturbs  them  in  their  nests,  the  hush  of 
the  dark  funereal  trees  which  made  no  stir  or  murmur  over- 


480  HESTER   MORLEY's   PROMISE. 

head  ;  all  this  silence  seemed  ominous.  She  wanted  a 
little  whisper  of  welcome  and  encouragement.  If  her 
father  had  been  indeed  a  murderer,  skulking  under  the 
black  shadows  of  the  trees  for  concealment,  there  could  not 
have  been  a  more  condemning  hush  and  dumbness  of  all 
nature  as  he  passed  by.  The  sky  above  them  was  shroud- 
ed by  one  unbroken  cloud,  through  which  neither  moon  nor 
star  looked  down  upon  them.  For  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
a  little  wayside  brook  gurgled  along  their  path  with  a 
pleasant  and  soothing  babble,  but  it  also  soon  forsook 
them,  and  turned  aside  into  the  meadows,  leaving  the  road 
more  cheerless  by  its  desertion. 

John  Morley  was  silent  too  ;  but  if  she  could  have  seen 
his  face  she  would  have  been  alarmed  at  the  strong  pas- 
sions which  furrowed  it.  This  was  the  walk  he  had  most 
often  taken  with  Rose  ;  in  those  early  days  when  he 
was  lavishing  a  wealth  of  love  upon  her,  and  when  he 
believed  himself  beloved  again,  because  her  treacherous 
blue  eyes  had  been  bent  upon  him,  dewy  with  a  feigned 
and  false  tenderness.  Every  step  was  bringing  him  nearer 
his  home,  and  nearer  her  presence  in  his  house.  Even 
now  he  could  have  turned  and  fled  again ;  fled  back  to 
that  pleasant  and  sunny  valley  in  Burgundy,  where  no  man 
knew  his  dishonor.  But  Hester  was  by  his  side,  though 
he  was  but  half  conscious  of  her  nearness,  and  had  but  a 
vague  sense  of  his  complete  wretchedness  without  her.  It 
was  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  town-lamps,  and  their 
own  street  lay  before  them,  that  he  arrested  his  steady 
step  for  an  instant,  and  lifted  her  hand  reverently  to  his 
lips,  murmured  "God  bless  you,  my  daughter." 

The  chapel  stood  at  their  left  hand,  and  Hester  drew 
her  father  into  the  shadow  of  its  great  portico,  where  she 
had  found  Rose  homeless  and  friendless.  They  stood 
behind  the   pillars,   hand  pressed  in  hand,   pausing  for  a 


AT    HOME    AGAIN.  48 1 

little  while  before  making  the  last  stage  of  their  journey. 
Opposite  to  them,  in  the  garret  where  Lawson  and  his 
mother  lived,  there  twinkled  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  candle 
in  the  uncurtained  window,  which  was  too  high  to  be  over- 
looked. 

"  Father,"  w^hispered  Hester,  pressing  his  hand  more 
warmly  ;  "  let  me  go  and  get  Lawson's  key,  and  then  we 
can  enter  our  home  without  going  in  at  the  house  door. 
You  can  turn  into  your  ov»n  room,  while  I  see  where  she  is. 
It  is  late,  and  she  may  be  already  asleep  ;  or  she  may  be 
gone  back  to  the  old  nurser}'.  You  need  not  see  her  to- 
night.    Take  some  rest  first ;  and  you  will  feel  better." 

John  Morley  answered  only  by  releasing  her  hand,  and 
she  left  him  in  the  chapel  portico.  Very  quick  but  softly 
she  mounted  the  familiar  staircase,  and  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  garret.  Lawson  was  alone,  leaning  back  in  a 
large  old  chair,  and  looking  very  ill  and  worn.  His  dark 
eyes  burned  under  his  grey  eyebrows,  and  his  hollow  cheeks 
were  of  an  ashy  paleness ;  his  hair  was  greyer  and  his  eyes 
-edder  and  more  sunken  than  when  she  had  seen  him  last, 
"ihe  had  advanced  half-way  across  the  room  before  he  per- 
ceived her  entrance. 

"Miss  Hester!  "  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  terror. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  Hester,  dear  old  Lawson,"  she  said;  "  Hes- 
ter come  back;  and  her  father.  He  is  waiting  outside  for 
me.  I  am  come  here  for  your  key,  so  that  we  may  get  in 
home  without  letting  anybody  know." 

"  She  is  there,''  he  answered,  in  a  hoarse  and  hollow 
voice. 

"  V>  knov,'  it."  said  Hester  ;  "  I  think  I  know  all  about 
it.  Lawson.  There  is  nobody  in  the  world  who  knows  it  all 
as  I  do.  You  used  to  love  me  very  dearly,  and  my  mother 
too.  But  oh,  how  could  you  be  so  cruel,  so  wicked  I  See 
what  sorrow  it  brought  upon  me  !  I  think  I  should  almost 
21 


482  HKSTER    MORLEV'S   PROMISE. 

have  died  of  home  sickness,  if  we  had  not  known  soon  that 
we  could  conne  home  safely.'' 

She  uttered  her  reproaches  in  a  tender  yet  penetrating 
tone ;  and  Lawson  laid  his  palsied  head  upon  the  table 
before  him,  groaning  bitterly.  He  made  no  attempt  to  an- 
swer her ;  but  when  he  lifted  his  face  for  an  instant  to  look 
at  her,  she  was  shocked  at  its  expression  of  suffering  and 
despair. 

"  Are  you  ill,  dear  old  Lawson  } "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  my  medicine  here,"  he  answered,  tapping  a 
small  box  which  lay  close  to  his  hand. 

"  I  cannot  stay  now  ; "  she  said,  "  my  father  is  waiting 
for  me.  I  see  the  key  is  hanging  up  in  its  old  place. 
Good-bye,  Lawson.  Come  down  and  see  me  alone  in  the 
morning  ;  alone,  you  know." 

She  lingered  for  a  minute  to  see  if  he  would  look  up, 
or  speak  to  her  once  more,  but  he  did  not  ;  and  she  hur- 
ried away  and  out  in  the  street  again  to  her  father. 

They  walked  down  the  quiet  street  side  by  side,  and 
in  silence,  for  their  hearts  were  too  full  for  speech  now. 
Their  tread  was  hushed  and  measured,  as  though  they 
formed  part  of  a  funeral  procession.  On  either  hand  the 
tall  houses  were  dark  and  full  of  gloomy  shadows,  which 
moved  fitfully  as  they  passed  by  in  the  flickering  light  of 
the  few  and  feeble  lamps.  The  strip  of  sky  overhead  was 
breaking  into  a  multitude  of  small  clouds,  and  the  moon, 
which  was  on  the  wane,  looked  down  with  a  pale  and  hur- 
ried gleam  through  the  rifts  before  the  clouds  closed 
speedily  again  over  its  mournful  face.  Their  steps,  slow 
before,  slackened  as  they  drew  nearer  to  their  old  home, 
and  stopped  altogether  as  they  stood  opposite  to  it,  look- 
ing up  to  its  dark  gables  traced  against  the  obscure  sky. 
Of  all  who  had  ever  gazed  at  the  decayed  and  dingy 
dwelling,  none  had  ever  looked   with   such  eves  as  theirs. 


AT    HUME   AGAIN.  4S3 

A  shiver  passed  through  them  both,  as  if  some  deadly 
miasma  had  breathed  upon  them  from  the  deserted  and 
dishonored  house.  Yet  it  was  their  home,  the  only  home 
Hester  had  ever  known  ;  the  home  to  which  John  Morley 
had  brought  her  mother,  and  that  second  wife  of  his  who 
had  disgraced  it  by  her  sin.  They  stood  opposite  to  it, 
two  dark  shadows  in  the  gloom,  scarcely  daring  to  venture 
across  the  narrow  street  and  invade  the  solemn  solitude, 
if  solitude  indeed  were  there,  of  the  empty  house. 

"  Come,"  said  Hester  at  last,  grasping  her  father's 
hand  again,  and  leading  him  like  a  child  across  the  street. 
The  door  by  which  Lawson  entered  his  workroom  was 
gained  by  an  outer  staircase,  like  that  leading  to  the  nur- 
sery, and  it  brought  them  on  to  the  second  tioor  of  the 
building.  Hester  unlocked  it  and  threw  it  open,  a  damp, 
cold,  earthy  air  greeting  them.  The  darkness  was  un- 
broken blackness  within ;  but  there  was  no  danger  that 
they  should  stumble  upon  the  floor  their  feet  had  trodden 
so  often.  Yet  John  Morley  stood  within  the  closed  door, 
rooted  and  immovable,  while  Hester  found  Lawson's 
match-box  and  kindled  a  light.  She  came  back  to  him 
and  looked  into  his  face.  It  had  quite  lost  its  new-born 
air  of  resolve  and  strength  ;  and  he  stood  with  his  head 
drooping  once  more,  and  his  shoulders  bowed,  an  old  and 
decrepit  man.  She  put  both  her  arms  fondly  about  his 
neck,  and  forced  him  to  look  at  her. 

"  Have  we  done  wrong  in  returning  here  .-'  "  she  asked. 
"  Do  you  feel  sorry  we  came  back  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered  ;  "  we  have  done  well.  It  is 
but  a  passing  paroxysm,  a  dread  which  is  almost  over.  In 
a  minute  or  two  I  shall  be  myself  again.  I  will  go  to  my 
own  room,  Hester." 

He  put  his  arm  through  hers,  and  leaned  heavily  upon 
it  as  she    led    him  across  the   empty  workrooms.     They 


484  HESTER   MORLEY'S   I'ROMISE. 

found  the  door  into  the  house  unfastened,  though  a  boll 
was  upon  it  which  had  never  been  there  in  their  time.  It 
opened  at  one  end  of  the  long,  dark  passage  which  ran 
in  a  straight  line  through  the  middle  of  the  house.  At 
the  other  end  was  the  door  of  Rose's  drawing-room,  stand- 
ing wide  open,  and  sending  a  broad,  bright  stream  of  light 
into  the  darkness.  Almost  involuntarily  Hester  extin- 
guished her  candle,  and  drew  her  father's  arm  more  closely 
through  her  own,  thinking  to  gain  his  room  unseen.  But 
John  Morley  did  not  stir,  and  she  could  catch,  in  t'ne 
glimmer  which  reached  them,  the  flashing  of  his  eyes  as 
he  gazed  steadily  into  the  lighted  room.  There  was  the 
sound  of  a  footfall  passing  to  and  fro  on  the  carpeted  floor, 
but  no  one  came  into  sight ;  and  after  a  minute  or  two 
John  Morley  whispered  into  his  daughter's  ear. 

*'  I  must  see  her,"  he  said  ;  "  let  us  go  forward  softly. 
Even  if  she  discovers  me  here,  I  must  see  her  this  night." 

With  stealthy  footsteps,  as  if  they  had  no  right  to  be 
in  their  own  home,  they  crept  along  the  passage  until  they 
could  command  the  view  of  half  the  room  within. .  It  was 
many  years  since  Hester  had  looked  into  it,  and  she  Bad 
grown  from  childhood  to  womanhood  since ;  but  to  her 
eye  there  was  but  little  change.  Yet  at  one  corner  stood 
a  little  bed — she  recollected  it  as  her  own — but  it  was  not 
occupied.  The  child  who  had  been  sleeping  in  it  was 
now  being  carried  to  and  fro  about  the  room,  in  the  arms 
of  her  father,  Robert  Waldron. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

THE  LAST  MOMENT. 

WHEN  Carl  told  him  that  little  Hester  was  gone  to 
her  mother,  Robert  believed  that  his  child  was  lost 
to  him  altogether.  He  could  not  meet  Rose  in  her  hus- 
band's house  ;  he  could  not  even  visit  his  child  there. 
Mr.  Waldron  went  every  day  to  spend  an  hour  or  two 
with  the  little  granddaughter,  whom  he  could  not  acknowl- 
edge, but  who  fastened  the  more  closely  about  his  heart. 
He  spoke  very  gentl}-  to  Rose,  and  with  a  reverence  he 
had  not  accorded  to  her  in  the  days  when  she  had  been  a 
favorite  with  him,  in  spite  of  her  girlish  frivolity.  The  con- 
secration of  a  great  sin,  purified  by  a  great  sorrow,  was 
upon  her.  Now  and  then  he  addressed  to  her  the  few 
hearty  words  of  fellowship  and  encouragement  by  which  a 
true  man,  who  is  also  a  Christian,  can  bind  up  the  broken 
in  spirit;  but  they  did  not  converse  much.  The  thoughts 
of  both  were  centred  upon  the  child  whose  life  was  swiftly 
running  to  its  close.  From  the  moment  that  she  entered 
under  John  Morley's  roof,  they  saw  that  her  days  were  num- 
bered ;  and  on  the  morning  of  this  day,  when  John  Mor- 
ley  and  Hester  were  hasteninghoraewards,  Grant  counted 
the  duration  of  her  life  by  hours. 

It  was  then  that  little  Hester,  growing  conscious  of  a 
change  in  herself,  began  to  think  of  those  who  had  made 
the  last  few  months  a  holiday  to  her.  Carl  was  gone  avvay 
and  she  should  see  him  no  more  ;  but  Annie  could  come 


486  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

to  bid  her  farewell,  and  Robert  Waldron,  who  had  never 
been  to  see  her  since  she  had  come  to  be  with  her  mother. 
She  asked  Mr.  Waldron  himself,  as  he  stooped  over  her 
bed,  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  a  strange  pressure  upon  his 
thioat. 

"  Why  doesn't  he  come  ?  "  she  said.  "  He  used  to  be 
very  kind  to  me.  If  you'd  only  tell  him  little  Hester  is 
going  to  die  very,  very  soon,  I'm  sure  he'd  come.  I  loved 
him  very  much  ;  almost  as  much  as  Carl." 

"  He  shall  come  to  see  you,  my  little  child,"  said  Mr. 
Waldron.  , 

So  Robert  came  at  last ;  back  to  the  pleasant  room, 
where  pleasant  and  guilty  hours  had  passed  quickly  for  him 
and  Rose — hours  which  had  sown  deadly  seeds  broadcast. 
He  could  not  fly  from  h  now  ;  he  could  not  make  haste  to 
leave  it  behind  him.  Hester — his  child — was  dying,  and 
he  was  not  coward  enough  to  desert  her  death-bed.  Rose 
was  there,  but  he  scarcely  saw  her,  scarcely  spoke  to  her. 
They  met  for  the  last  time  in  the  presence  of  their  child, 
but  they  met  as  strangers  ;  only  one  short,  quick  glance 
into  one  another's  eyes  told  their  tale  of  agony  and  repent- 
ance. 

"  Don't  leave  me  again,"  moaned  little  Hester ;  "  I 
shall  die  soon  ;  and,  oh,  1  am  very  tired.  Could  you  carry 
me  about  in  your  arms  for  a  little  while  ? " 

This  had  been  her  cry  from  time  to  time  during  the 
day;  and  Robert,  cradling  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  had 
paced  about  the  room,  gathering  up  all  (he  scattered  mem- 
ories which  lay  in  ambush  for  him  behind  every  familiar 
object  upon  which  his  eye  rested.  How  he  loathed  him- 
self! How  he  wondered  at  his  own  idiotic  sin  !  With  what 
sharp  unutterable  pangs  every  word  and  moan  of  the  dying 
child  pierced  him  to  the  heart !  The  martyrdom  was  keen- 
er to   him   than   to   Rose,  whose  feebleness  softened   the 


THE    LAST    MOMKNT.  487 

anguish  of  her  soul.  She  was  going  to  follow  very  quick 
ly;  but  he  would  live  for  many  years,  with  the  image  of  a 
white  face,  and  small,  emaciated  limbs,  and  the  echo  of  a 
little  feebli  voice,  dwelling  forever  in  the  depths  of  his 
memory. 

It  was  upon  this  agony  and  passion  of  retiibution  that 
John  Morley  looked,  himself  unseen,  and  reading  the 
whole  story  with  his  keen  and  quickened  eyesight.  There 
was  Robert  Waldron,  his  head  bowed  down  over  the  form 
of  his  dying  child,  and  his  heavy  feet  treading  to  and  fro 
under  his  burden  ;  as  his  own  had  done  in  the  room  be- 
low, with  a  burden  as  heavy  bending  down  his  head.  Rose 
had  fallen  asleep  for  sorrow,  and  was  unconscious  of  the 
nearness  of  both  of  them.  She  was  lying  upon  the  sofa, 
with  a  shawl  throw'n  over  her ;  but  her  head  was  uncover- 
ed, and  the  light  fell  upon  it.  He  could  see  every  line 
traced  upon  her  corpse-like  face.  If  one  element  of  re- 
pentance consists  in  not  thinking  over  again  the  sins  of 
the  pleasant  past,  it  was  long  since  Rose  had  ceased  to 
dwell  upon  them.  Her  husband's  heart  yearned  to  her 
with  a  great  pity,  with  a  passiot.ate  tenderness  v.hich  no 
other  woman  had  ever  stirred  within  him.  She  slept,  and 
he  would  not  have  her  awake.  If  she  had  been  dead  he 
would  not  have  wished  her  alive  again.  But  he  had  never 
loved  her,  never  grieved  for  her,  as  he  did  now. 

It  might  have  been  that  the  bitter  sigh  which  was  in 
his  heart  rose  unbidden  to  his  lips,  or  that  he  or  Hester 
made  some  movement  of  which  they  were  unaware,  for 
Robert  paused  suddenly  in  his  dreary  march,  and  turned 
tovvards  them,  peering  anxiously  into  the  darkness.  The 
child,  too,  lifted  her  feeble  head  and  bent  it  forward. 
Hester  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  \Vith  a  swift  and 
noiseless  step,  and  with  her  finger  raised  in  a  gesture  of 
silence,  she  glided  into  the  room,  leaving  her   father   still 


488  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

Standing  without,  and  took  the  little  child  out  of  Robert's 
arms.  Little  Hester  nestled  down  upon  her  laj^,  breathing 
a  sigh  of  measureless  content,  and  gazing  up  into  the 
sweet  face  bent  over  her  with  a  flitting  smile  upon  her  own. 
Robert  Waldron  knelt  down  before  them  both,  and  felt 
that  the  supreme  moment  of  his  martyrdom  had  come. 

"Dear  Hester,"  murmured  the  child,  "you  are  just  in 
time.  I've  been  here  having  my  holidays  before  I  die. 
But  I'm  going  to  die  now,  very  quickly.  Did  you  know, 
and  are  you  come  on  purpose  ? " 

"  1  did  not  know  you  were  here,  my  darling,"  answered 
Hester.     "  This  is  my  own  home." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  plaintively  ;  "  my  mother  told 
me  you  used  to  live  here  when  you  were  as  old  as  me. 
Was  it  then  you  knew  my  father  ?  " 

Hester's  pitiful  gaze  was  bent  upon  Robert,  but  he 
could  not  bear  to  meet  it.  He  covered  his  eyes,  and  bow- 
ed his  head  until  it  almost  rested  upon  her  feet. 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  then  that  I  knew  him,"  she  answered, 
very  softly. 

"  I  shall  know  him  soon,"  said  little  Hester,  in  a  tone 
of  exultation  ;  "  very,  very  soon,  I  am  going  to  heaven, 
and  I  shall  see  God  there  ;  and  Jesus  Christ,  who  loves 
little  children  so.  But  He  won't  be  jealous  if  I  love  my 
father  very,  very  much  ;  because  I've  never  known  him 
here,  and  couldn't  love  him.  You  don't  think  God  will  be 
angry,  or  Jesus  Christ,  do  you,  Hester  ?  " 

"  No  no,"  she  answered,  the  tears  falling  fast  upon  the 
child's  thin  hand. 

"  Hester  !  Hester  !  "  cried  Robert  in  an  accenr  of 
profound  anguish. 

"  Which  does  he  mean  ? "  she  asked,  touching  his 
bowed  head  playfully.  "  There  are  two  of  us  now.  Is  it  me, 
or  the  other   Hester,  you   are  calling  to  ?     I  don't   know 


THE    LAST    MOMENT.  489 

what  we  should  do  if  I  was  going  to  live.  But  I'm  very 
glad,  after  all,  to  be  going  to  my  own  father."' 

She  lay  still  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  exhausted,  looking 
up  to  Hester  with  a  gaze  of  utter  satisfaction.  Grant,  whom 
Hester  had  not  seen  until  then,  came  forward  and  shook 
his  head  gravely  as  he  felt  the  failing  pulse  in  the  languid 
little  wrist,  which  he  put  down  gently  after  he  had  held  it 
for  a  few  seconds.  She  turned  her  eyes  away  from  Hes- 
ter's face  for  a  moment  to  look  at  him. 

"  You've  all  been  very  good  to  me,"'  she  murmured. 
"You've  given  me  such  holidays  as  I  never  thought  of; 
but  it  is  too  late  now ;  and  I'm  not  sorry.  I  don't  want  any- 
body to  be  very  sorry.  Shall  you  be  very  sorry .'' "  she  add- 
ed, touching  Robert's  head  again  with  her  cold  little  hand. 

His  heart  was  dead  within  him,  and  he  neither  spoke 
nor  lifted  up  his  face,  though  she  waited  for  an  answer. 
Rose  was  awake  now,  and  was  creeping  towards  them, 
holding  by  the  chairs  to  steady  her  failing  and  faltering 
steps  :  while  John  Morley  looked  on,  seeing  all,  hearing 
every  word  of  the  child's  dying  voice,  and  comprehending 
every  turn  of  the  brief  history  which  was  ending  thus. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you,"  said  the  child.  "  They 
have  all  names  but  you  ;  and  I  love  you  very  much.  I 
think  I  love  you  as  much  as  Carl.  If  my  father  had  not 
died,  perhaps  he  would  have  carried  me  about  like  you've 
done,  in  your  arms.  Are  you  so  tired  that  you  cannot  look 
at  me  ? " 

"  He  is  not  tired,"  said  Hester  ;  "  he  is  too  sorry  to 
look  at  you." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  be  so  very  sorry,"  she  moaned, 
her  lips  quivering  with  grief  j  "  nor  anybody  else,  nor  my 
mother.  Tell  him  not  to  be  like  that,  Hester.  Tell  him 
to  look  at  us.  I  want  to  see  his  face  again,  because  I  love 
him." 


490  HPZSTER    MORLEV'S    PROMISE. 

"  Robert,"  said  Hester,  "  look  at  her." 

Her  voice  was  almost  lost  in  sobs,  and  she  laid  her 
hand,  as  the  child  had  done,  upon  his  bowed  he.d.  He 
lifted  it  up  then,  and  glanced  first  at  her,  then  at  his  little 
daughter,  with  a  look  of  afiguish,  such  as  she  had  never 
seen  even  upon  her  father's  face. 

"  Why,"  faltered  the  child,  in  broken  sentences,  "  do 
you  think  I  love  Carl  the  most  now?  I  only  loved  him 
most  because  I  knew  him  first.  See,  I  love  you  quite  as 
much.  Kiss  me,  and  let  us  be  friends  before  I  die.  I 
wish  I'd  known  you  all  my  life,  because  then  I  might  have 
loved  you  most  of  all.  But  it  wouldn't  be  right  now, 
would  it." 

She  had  put  her  hand  to  his  face,  and  was  stroking  it 
fondly ;  and  Robert  seized  it,  and  held  it  passionately  to 
his  lips. 

"You  love  me  very  much,"  she  whispered,  "very  much. 
I  wonder  if  my  father  would  have  loved  me  any  more  ! 
But  I  shall  soon  know.  Why,  there's  my  mother  leaning 
over  our  chair,  Hester." 

Hester  had  felt  Rose  beside  her  for  the  last  minute, 
but  she  had  not  dared  to  stir  for  fear  of  disturbing  the 
easy  position  of  the  dying  child.  Rose  spoke  in  a  shrill 
yet  feeble  voice,  which  smote  upon  John  Morley's  ear. 

"  I  must  tell  her,"  she  cried.  "  Robert !  Hester  I  I 
must  tell  her." 

"  No,  no  !  not  now  !  never,  now  !  "  answered  Robert. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  your  father  before  you  die?  " 
asked  Hester,  bending  more  fondly  over  the  little  girl. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  glance  ;  '  he  is 
waiting  for  me  up  in  heaven.  And  my  mother  ?a}s  she 
won't  be  very  long.  Let  everybody  kiss  me  quickly,  for  I 
am  going." 

She   almost  raised    herself  up  on    Hester's  lap,   and 


THE   LAST   MOMENT.  49 1 

looked  eagerly  about  her.  Grant  was  standing  before  her. 
but  she  looked  past  him  to  the  open  doorway  and  the 
obscure  passage  beyond,  where  John  jNIorley's  wliite  head 
stood  out  clearly  in  the  gloom.  She  raised  her  hand 
slowly,  pointing  towards  him  ;  and  Rose,  turning  her  eyes 
in  that  direction,  saw  the  face  of  her  husband  looking 
towards  her  in  this  hour  of  his  vengeance. 

"Let  him  come  first,  and  kiss  me,"  said  the  child,  in 
her  dying  voice. 

John  Morley  advanced  steadily  into  the  room,  with 
every  eye  fixed  upon  him  intently  ;  Robert  alone  knowing 
nothing  of  what  little  Hester's  words  meant,  for  he  had 
again  bowed  his  head  down  almost  to  the  ground  at 
Hester's  feet.  Rose  watched  her  husband  :  and  Hester's 
imploring  gaze  never  left  his  face.  If  there  were  any  bit- 
terness and  rancor  in  his  heart  now,  it  would  be  there  ior- 
ever.  No  punishment,  no  remorse  could  satisfy  him  if  he 
was  not  satisfied  at  this  moment.  He  did  not  look  at 
Rose,  but  his  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  small,  wan  face 
resting  upon  Hester's  arm.  The  little  face  smiled  up  at 
him,  and  the  little  hands  were  stretched  out  to  him. 

"  You  would  love  me  too,  if  you  only  knew  me,"  she 
said.     ''  Kiss  me  once  before  I  die." 

He  stood  between  his  wife  and  Robert  Waldron  now  : 
he  could  have  laid  a  hand  upon  each  of  them.  But  he 
looked  only  at  the  cliild.  his  eyes  fast  growing  dim,  and 
with  an  unspeakable  compassion  in  his  heart.  Resting  his 
hand  upon  Hester's  shoulder,  and  stooping  over  Rose's 
dying  child,  he  laid  a  long,  gentle  kiss  upon  her  lips  ;  a 
kiss  which  meant  more  than  any  words  could  have  said. 

"Mv  father  will  kiss  me  like  that,"  murmured  the  fail- 
ing voice  ;  and  Robert  raised  himself  up  to  look  at  her 
once  more.  The  last  moment  was  come.  The  last  kiss 
her  chilling  lips  could  feel  had  been  imprinted  there  b}i 


492  MESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

Rose's  husband.  He  groped  about  with  his  hands  for  an 
instant,  as  if  to  catch  at  some  solid  support,  and  then  he 
fell  forward  fainting  at  John  Morley's  feet. 

For  an  instant  no  one  stirred.  John  Morley  leaned 
heavily  upon  Hester's  shoulder  ;  but  when  Grant  bent 
over  the  senseless  form,  he  pushed  him  gently  on  one  side, 
and  stooping  down  he  raised  Robert  in  his  arms,  with  a 
woman's  tenderness  of  touch,  and  carried  him  into  his 
own  room  and  laid  him  upon  his  own  bed. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

A   FULL   FORGIVENESS. 

GRANT  removed  the  dead  child  from  Hester's  Iap„ 
and  bade  her  take  Rose  down  stairs  to  her  father's 
sitting  room.  Rose  shed  no  tears,  but  appeared  cahii  and 
almost  apathetic.  Hester,  carrying  a  light  in  her  trembling 
hand,  led  the  waj^  to  the  gloomy  room,  where  John  Mor- 
ley's  life  had  been  wasted.  There  was  a  chilly  sense  of 
vacancy  about  it  then,  for  all  the  e very-day  confusion  had 
been  carefully  put  into  frigid  order  by  Lawson's  mother. 
Hester  set  Rose  down  in  the  old  chair  on  the  hearth,  and 
busied  herself  for  some  time  in  lighting  the  fire  ;  while  she 
sat  by,  watching  her  movements  with  dull  but  tearless  eyes. 
The  rare  refined  beauty  of  Hester's  face,  pale  with  suppress- 
ed emotions,  had  never  shown  itself  as  it  did  now.  When 
the  fire  had  burned  up,  she  brought  a  footstool  to  the  side 
of  Rose,  and  sitting  down,  weariedly  laid  her  head  upon 
her  lap.  The  fond,  daughter-like  attitude,  the  sweetness  of 
Hester's  wan  face,  the  utter  oblivion  of  her  step-mother's 
sin,  expressed  by  her  silence,  roused  Rose  from  her  stu- 
pefaction. She  laid  both  her  hands  upon  Hester's  head, 
and  hiding  her  face  upon  them  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears 
"  Why  are  you  so  good  to  me  ? "  she  cried.  "  Wh) 
was  I  ever  born  ?  You  would  have  been  happier  if  yot 
had  never  seen  me,  little  Hetty.  Oh,  little  Hetty  !  little 
Hetty  !  why  did  I  ever  come  into  this  house  to  be  a  sorrow 


494 


HESTER    MORLEV  S    PROMISE. 


to  you?  Oh,  I  did  not  tliink  it  would  all  end  in  this.     And 
yet  you  love  me  through  it  all  !  " 

"  Yes ;  I  love  you  dearly,  poor  mother,"  said  Hester, 
in  her  softest  accents. 

"  Then  you  think  God  will  love  me  in  spite  of  all," 
murmured  Rose. 

"  I  am  sure  He  does,"  she  answered. 

"And  my  husband. -"  "  she  continued,  in  a  voice  of  min- 
gled entreaty  and  incredulity. 

"  Yes  ;  my  father  loves  you,"  said  Hester  ;  "  he  forgives 
you.  He  has  come  back  knowing  you  were  here.  He  is 
taking  care  of  Robert  Waldron  now.  Hush  !  they  are  com- 
ing down  stairs." 

They  listened  breathlessly  to  the  sound  of  footsteps 
descending  the  staircase.  Would  they  come  in  here,  both 
John  Morley  and  Robert  Waldron,  and  meet  Rose  face  to 
face?  She  pressed  her  hand  against  her  heart,  praying 
silently  to  God  to  spare  her  this  trial.  The  door  was  open, 
and  thev  could  hear  distinctly  all  that  was  passing  in  the 
old-fashioned  entrance-hall.  Grant  had  come  down  with 
them,  and  said  he  would  walk  home  with  Robert.  Then 
Robert  spoke,  in  a  troubled,  scarcely  articulate  voice. 

"John  Morley,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sinned  grievously 
against  you,  and  1  can  do  nothing  to  atone  for  it  to  you. 
Yet  I  have  suffered  for  my  sin,  and  repented  of  it  with  a 
very  bitter  repentance.     Can  you  pardon  me  ?" 

"  As  freely  as  God  pardons  us  all,"  answered  John 
Morley,  in  a  clear  tone.  "Yet  it  may  be  you  will  have 
to  bear  the  consequences  of  your  sm  all  your  life  long. 
But  if  at  any  time  I  can  help  you  to  bear  that  burden,  by 
counsel,  by  sympathy,  by  prayer,  come  to  me  and  let  us 
talk  together  as  friend  with  friend.  You  are  young  yet ; 
young  enough  to  do  good  work  in  the  world.  God  bless 
you  and  give  you  peace  !  " 


A   FULL   FORGIVENESS.  495 

There  was  a  minute's  silence  in  the  outer  room,  and 
then  the  house-door  closed  upon  Grant  and  Robert ;  and 
John  Morley's  foot  took  a  step  or  two  towards  his  own 
forsaken  parlor.  Hester  looked  up  into  Rose's  face,  and 
saw  it  flushed  and  kindled  with  a  new  light.  He,  who  had 
forgiven  Robert  freely  and  with  a  blessing,  was  coming 
towards  her,  his  wife,  whom  be  had  loved  with  a  profound 
passion.  Neither  of  them  moved,  except  that  Rose  leaned 
back  in  the  chair,  with  a  strange  flutter  of  hope  and  joy 
making  her  tremble.  He  came  on,  entered  the  room,  and 
stood  just  within  the  threshold,  looking  sadly  towards  them, 
as  they  sat  together  in  the  red  fire-light,  upon  his  dishon- 
ored hearth. 

"  Father  !  "  cried  Hester,  rising  from  her  footstool,  and 
going  towards  him  as  he  remained  motionless  at  the  door. 

"  Do  not  go,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  arm  ; 
"  do  not  leave  us.  You  have  ministered  between  us  this 
long  time  past.     Stay  with  us  still." 

"  But  speak  to  her,"  urged  Hester  ;  "  tell  her  that  you 
forgive  her  too,  freely." 

She  drew  him  on  towards  the  hearth,  her  arm  pressed 
about  him  with  a  tender  force,  until  he  stood  opposite  to 
Rose,  and  looked  down  upon  her  fair  face,  which  in  the 
red  light  had  borrowed  some  of  the  bloom  of  her  girlhood. 
Her  blue  eyes  glistening  with  unshed  tears,  were  raised  to 
him  in  speechless  entreaty  ;  and  he  met  their  gaze  with  an 
unspeakable  pity  in  his  own. 

"Child,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  trouble,  mingled  with 
compassion,  "I  have  just  seen  you  pass  through  a  woman's 
keenest  sorrow." 

"  No,  no,"  sobbed  Rose,  "  no,  no  I  That  was  not  my 
keenest  sorrow.     I  shall  soon  go  to  her.    I  am  going  to  die." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  stilliooking  down  upon  her  with  a 
strange  tenderness. 


49^  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

*'  Oh !  "  she  cried,  with  a  pitiful  wail  in  her  feeble 
voice ;  "  if  I  could  only  do  something  to  atone  for  it,  to 
make  you  believe  that  1  love  you !  I  was  such  a  silly  weak 
creature  ;  I  did  not  know  then  how  much  better  your  love 
was  than  his.  You  did  •  love  me  before  I  was  so  wicked, 
didn't  you  ? " 

"  Love  you  ! "  he  echoed. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  continued,  wringing  her  hands. 
"  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  had  forsaken  you.  Don't  think 
I  was  ever  happy.  He  was  kind,  but  every  word  he 
spoke  was  a  reproach  to  me.  I  had  a  little  child,  but  she 
scarcely  belonged  to  me  ;  I  could  not  let  her  live  with  me  , 
I  never  nursed  her  ;  we  never  played  together,  like  little 
Hetty  and  I  used  to  play  together,  just  after  you  married 
me.  Do  you  remember  .?  Oh,  that  was  so  happy  !  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  been  in  heaven  once,  and  fallen  down,  down, 
down  into  a  pit  of  darkness.  Shall  we  know  each  other  in 
heaven,  do  you  think.'  " 

"  I  think  we  shall,"  he  answered. 

"Is  it  better  for  me  to  die  than  to  live?"  she  asked 
imploringly. 

"  God  thinks  it  best,"  he  said. 

"  If  I  had  lived,"  she  went  on,  "could  you  so  have  for- 
given me  that  you  could  take  me  back  again,  quite  back 
again  to  you,  as  your  wife,  whom  you  loved  and  trusted,  as 
in  the  time  before  I  deceived  you.  I  don't  think  anybody 
could  love  you  as  I  would.  Oh,  how  I  would  wait  and 
watch  to  please  you  !     Could  you  have  forgiven  me  so  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John  Morley.  his  whole  heart  yearning  to 
wards  her,  yet  knowing  that  it  was  her  doom  so  plainly 
read  upon  her  face,  which  made  it  possible  for  him  to  keep 
her  under  his  roof  during  the  short  span  still  remaining  to 
her  of  life.  The.  complication  which  he  had  dreaded  when 
he  heard  that  Rose  was  living  was  already  disentangled. 


A   FULL   FORC.IVENESS.  497 

He  would  not  be  compelled  to  put  her  from  him,  against 
the  softening  of  his  own  love  and  the  urgent  pleas  of  her 
penitence.  He  could  see  that  a  few  weeks,  or  months  it 
might  be,  remained,  during  which  she  could  still  be  with 
him  ;  he  could  look  upon  her  and  listen  to  her  beloved 
voice,  without  any  wrong  done  to  his  own  conscience  and 
his  sense  of  righteousness.  It  was  a  great  boon  from  the 
God  he  had  distrusted. 

'•  Child,'"  he  said — and  from  that  time  he  called  her  by 
no  other  name — "I  love  you  wondrously,  and  I  thank  God 
that  He  is  going  to  call  you  home  to  Himself.  I  could  not 
have  taken  you  back  living  to  my  inmost  heart,  and  to  the 
wifehood  which  was  your  right  once.  But  dying,  I  can 
shelter  you  here,  within  my  own  house,  upon  my  own 
hearth,  where  Hester's  mother  died  many  years  ago.  And 
in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  can  cherish  the  memory  of  you,  com- 
ing home  at  last,  weary  of  your  long  exile  and  sin,  comfort- 
ed by  my  tenderness,  and  passing  away  under  my  protec- 
tion. Give  thanks,  my  poor  child,  that  your  probation  on 
earth  is  nearly  ended." 

Rose  had  lifted  herself  painfully  and  feebly  from  her 
chair,  and  stood  opposite  to  him,  listening  with  parted  lips 
and  beseeching  eyes  to  his  words,  uttered  in  a  voice  of 
passionate  affection.  She  could  not  altogether  understand 
him  yet,  any  more  than  she  had  done  in  those  far-off  times 
when  he  had  seemed  veiy  high  above  her  girlish  compre- 
hension. But  she  knev.'  that  he  loved  her  and  had  forgiven 
her;  he  would  not  banish  her  again  from  the  home  from 
which  she  had  fled,  being  easily  tempted.  As  a  child, 
whose  intelligence  cannot  grasp  all  the  meaning  of  its  own 
fault  and  the  pardon  given  to  it,  hides  its  childish  tears  in 
the  bosom  of  its  mother.  Rose  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
her  husband.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  a  hesitation 
which  she  did  not  see,  and  then  drew  her  towards  him,  and 
laid  her  head  upon  his  breast. 


CHAPTER    LXXI. 

carl's  hour. 

CARL  was  exactly  twenty-four  hours  behind  John  Mor- 
ley  and  Hester,  on  their  rapid  journey  homewards. 
At  Paris  he  learned,  through  an  interpreter,  that  two  such 
travellers  had  passed  through  the  day  before,  and  had  gone 
on  direct  for  England.  The  station-master  at  Little  Aston 
informed  him  mysteriously  that  there  was  a  rumor  in  the 
town  of  Mr.  Morley  and  his  daughter  having  taken  posses- 
sion of  their  house  again,  and  that  there  was  certainlv  a 
lady  with  them,  whom  people  believed  to  be  no  other  than 
Mrs.  Morley  herself.  Carl's  anxiety  fell  from  him  in  a 
moment.  Hester  was  safe  and  at  home  again  !  He  could 
not  give  a  thought  either  to  Rose  or  her  husband.  Leav- 
ing his  portmanteau  upon  the  platform  as  a  thing  unworthy 
of  his  recollection,  he  rushed  with  precipitate  headlong 
haste  to  John  Morley's  house,  haggard,  dusty,  and  travel- 
stained,  with  eyes  dull  for  want  of  sleep,  and  tangled  hair 
falling  in  disorder  about  his  careworn  face.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  gaining  admission  ;  the  house-door  could  be 
opened  from  the  outside  by  simply  turning  the  handle. 
He  could  not  stav  to  knock.  He  paused  no  longer  at  the 
closed  door  of  John  Morley's  parlor,  but  flung  it  open  and 
strode  in.  with  all  the  irresistible  impatience  which  had 
been  kept  in  check  so  long. 

It  had  not  been  an  idle  day  for  Hester.     There  was  nc 
servant  in  the  house,  and  though  Lawson's  mother  did  hei 


carl's  hour.  499 

best,  and  had  been  closely  at  work  since  the  morning, 
many  things  had  fallen  to  Hester's  lot  to  do.  Up  stairs 
in  Rose's  drawing-room,  sunny  and  pleasant,  lay  the  dead 
form  of  the  lonely  little  child,  whose  holidays  had  come  too 
late  to  save  her  ;  and  Hester's  gentle  hands  had  given  to 
the  room  an  air  of  soft  tender  repose,  well  suited  to  the 
peacefulness  of  little  Hester's  slumbers.  Mr.  Waldron  and 
Robert  had  been  in  during  the  day  to  look  at  her  for  the 
last  time  ;  for  to-morrow  she  was  to  be  buried  in  a  quiet 
churchyard  a  mile  or  two  away  from  Little  Aston,  with 
John  Morley  and  Grant  alone  to  follow  her  to  the  grave. 
In  the  dark  parlor  below  Rose  had  rested  in  the  great 
chair  upon  her  husband's  hearth,  waited  upon  by  him  with 
a  marvellous  carefulness  and  foresight.  A  singular  and 
solemn  satisfaction  seemed  to  pervade  the  house.  It  was 
night  again  now  ;  almost  the  hour  when  Hester  and  her  fa- 
ther had  stolen  in  home  the  evening  before.  Rose  was  in  bed 
and  had  fallen  asleep  calmly.  John  Morley  was  gone  to  his 
own  chamber  ;  and  Hester  was  alone  in  the  parlor,  v>-atch- 
ing  the  fire  die  out  in  the  grate,  and  the  light  grow  fainter 
about  the  crevices  and  corners  of  the  walls.  Robert  had 
told  her  that  Carl  was  gone  to  Burgundy  in  quest  of  her  ; 
and  she  was  taking  time  now  to  follow  him  in  his  journey 
with  somewhat  troubled  thoughts.  What  would  he  do 
there,  in  that  remote  little  town,  where  nobody  knew  a 
word  of  English  ?  How  could  he  find  out  what  had  become 
of  them  ?  Vi'ould  it  come  into  his  mind  that  the  cur'<i 
might  understand  Latin,  and  could  communicate  with  him 
in  that  language  ?  Or  would  he  wander  about  disconsolate 
and  perplexed,  seeking  traces  of  her,  and  being  unable  to 
discover  them  ?  Of  course  it  could  not  be  for  long  ;  but 
she  felt  very  much  disturbed  for  him.  How  greatly  he 
would  be  grieved  that  the  little  child  had  died  while  he  wag 
absent! 


500  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

Hester's  thoughts  had  reached  this  point  svhen  Carl 
made  his  abrupt  entrance.  He  did  not  know  what  or 
whom  he  had  expected  to  find  beyond  the  closed  door  of 
John  Morley's  parlor.  But  he  was  not  at  all  prepared  to 
come  upon  Hester  sitting  all  alone  in  the  dim  firelight, 
surrounded  by  the  hush  and  stillness  of  a  house  which  he 
had  almost  expected  to  find  full  of  stir  and  tumult.  It 
was  several  months  since  he  had  seen  her,  and  the  thought 
of  her  had  grown  almost  a  mocking  and  haunting  fancy. 
Until  very  recently  he  had  lived  on  in  the  belief  that  she 
was  dwelling  in  some  hiding-place  very  near  to  him,  and 
that  he  might  chance  to  cross  her  path  any  hour  of  any 
day.  For  the  last  few  days  he  had  been  in  eager  pur- 
suit of  her,  and  had  lost  her  like  a  shadow.  Now  she 
sat  in  the  dusky  light,  looking  into  the  embers,  but  start- 
ing to  her  feet  the  instant  that  he  strode  into  the  room, 
and  seeming  ready  to  take  flight  again.  He  forgot  that 
no  word  of  love  had  ever  crossed  his  lips  to  meet  Hester's 
ear.  She  belonged  to  him  by  right  of  his  great  love  and 
his  great  anxiety.  He  clasped  her  passionately  in  his 
arms,  and  laying  his  head  down  upon  hers,  was  speechless 
in  the  presence  of  his  great  joy. 

"  Carl,"  said  Hester,  lifting  her  hand  to  his  face  with 
one  of  the  sweetest  caresses  a  girl  can  give,  "  I  am  safe  , 
I  am  come  back.     My  father  and  I  are  at  home  again." 

She  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  herself  from  his  encir- 
cling arms,  or  to  affect  a  maidenly  reserve.  Presently  Carl 
released  her  himself,  only  keeping  her  hand  in  his.  as  they 
stood  side  by  side  on  the  hearth,  and  he  looked  down 
upon  her  eagerly  and  with  restrained  delight.  The  smoul- 
dering fire  shot  up  a  friendly  little  blaze,  whose  light 
played  about  her  delicate  face,  now  tinged  with  a  soft 
flush.  She  trembled  a  little  ;  her  fingers  quivered  in  his 
clasp  ;  the  breath  came  fluttering  through  her  parted  lips. 


CARL  S    HOUR.  50I 

He  could  not  break  the  delicious  silence  which  had  fallen 
upon  them.  Any  words  of  his  would  be  poor  indeed 
compared  to  it. 

"  Carl,"  faltered  Hester,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  little 
Hester  is  dead  !  " 

He  understood  what  she  told  him  ;  he  even  felt  a 
passing  pain  at  hearing  that  the  child  had  died  so  soon  ; 
but  it  only  gave  another  touch  like  the  unison  note  in 
music,  to  his  perfect  happiness.  The  tears  shone  upon 
Hester's  long  eyelashes ;  and  he  bent  down  and  kissed 
them  away. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  half  of 
apology  and  half  of  appropriation. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  whispered  Hester,  her  eye-lids  closed 
as  he  had  left  them,  when  his  lips  had  been  laid  against 
them. 

"  And  you  love  me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  love  you,"  she  whispered  again. 

"  Hester,"  he  said,  with  a  man's  quick  jealousy,  "  look 
me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  that  you  never  loved  anybody 
but  me." 

"How  could  I?"  she  asked,  raising  her  eyelids  but  a 
little,  and  keeping  her  eyes  upon  the  ground.  "  You 
know  how  few  people  I  have  ever  seen.  You,  and  Grant, 
and—" 

"Robert  Waldron,"  he  added,  as  she  paused.  "Yes; 
I  understand ;  I  know.  I  had  no  chance  against  a  man 
like  him.  But  then  why  did  you  not  accept  him,  Hester? 
Only  a  few  people,  like  your  father,  and  me,  and  those 
who  believe  that  there  are  many  better  and  nobler  and 
greater  things  than  wealth,  only  we  should  have  thought 
you  had  sacrificed  the  higher  for  the  lower.  He  loved 
you  as  passionately,  nearly  as  purely,  as  I  do.  You  are 
free  to  change  yet.     You   may  leave   me,  and   I  will   not 


502  HESTER    MORLEY'S   TROMISE. 

Utter  a  reproach.  You  will  be  very  grand,  very  rich  ;  and 
he  said  once  to  me  that  you  were  born  for  such  a  lot  as 
he  can  give  j'ou.  I  am,  compared  to  him,  a  poor  man, 
and  must  be  always  poor.  I  have  not  even  a  home  to 
offer  you  yet.  I  wish  I  had  not  kissed  you,  Hester.  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  taking  you  in  my  arms.  It  was  my 
surprise  which  overpowered  me.  Good  heavens  !  why  do 
you  neither  speak  nor  look  at  me  .''  " 

She  had  been  standing  beside  him  as  he  poured  out 
his  rapid  words,  perfectly  motionless,  with  her  eyes  still 
bent  upon  the  ground.  The  instinctive  coquetry  of  a 
woman  who  is  sure  she  is  beloved,  was  playing  about  her 
heart,  and  teaching  her  the  innocent  artifices  which  go  far 
in  befooling  men.  She  let  him  run  on  in  his  jealous  out- 
pouring without  interposing  a  glance  or  a  word  ;  but  when 
he  stopped,  she  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  his  face,  \vith  a  glance 
in  them  which  he  could  not  misunderstand. 

"  How  foolish  you  are,  Carl  !  "  were  the  words  she  ut- 
tered. 

"  Then  you  never  loved  anj^body  but  me  ? "  he  per- 
sisted. 

"  Never  !  •'  she  repeated,  tightening  her  fingers  about 
his  hand. 

Carl  was  afraid  of  stirring,  lest  she  should  take  her 
hand  from  his,  and  sit  down  apart  from  him,  and  whenever 
she  moved  he  held  her  more  closely.  The  small  flame 
died  away,  and  the  room  grew  very  dark  indeed,  with  no 
light  except  that  which  came  through  the  open  door  from 
the  lamp  in  the  old  house-place.  They  had  said  but  very 
little  to  one  another,  when  a  clear,  shrill,  foreign  voice 
caused  Carl  to  start  violently. 

"  Mademoiselle  Hester,  my  angel,"  said  Madame  Law- 
son,  "  I  must  run  away  to  my  house  for  a  little  half-hour. 
Is  there  anybody  talking  with  you,  my  little  one  ?  " 


carl's  hour.  503 

"It  is  only  Lawson's  mother,"  whispered  Hester.  "I 
must  go  out  to  her  for  a  minute." 

She  was  away  for  several  minutes,  and  came  back  with 
the  lamp  in  her  hand.  Then  Carl  sighed  a  profound  sigh. 
The  exquisite  moment  was  gone,  and  could  never  return. 
Yet  he  had  not  time  to  mourn  over  it ;  for  though  Hester 
seated  herself  in  her  own  chair,  she  did  not  forbid  him  to 
stretch  himself  upon  the  hearth-rug  at  her  feet,  where  her 
downcast  eyes  could  not  fail  to  fall  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  Hester  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  sorrow  com- 
ing across  his  joy,  "  so  that  little  child  is  dead  !  If  I  had 
not  found  you  again,  my  dear  love;  if  you  had  been  alto- 
gether lost  to  me,  little  Hester  would  have  been  dearer  to 
me  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Do  you  know  that  she 
loved  you  very  dearly,  and  pined  to  see  you  once  again  ? 
If  you  had  but  been  at  home  in  time  to  see  her  !  " 

"  I  did  see  her.  She  died  in  my  arms,"  said  Hester, 
in  a  sorrowful  voice. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  Hester !  "  answered    Carl. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  all  about  it,"  she  said,  looking  down 
shyly  upon  his  radiant  face,  for  he  could  not  keep  his 
grief  in  mind  while  he  was  gazing  up  at  her.  ''  My  tather 
and  Rose  are  reconciled  to  one  another  I  " 

She  told  him  the  whole  story  in  low,  quiet,  timid  tones, 
with  fitful  blushes  and  tears,  which  she  did  not  wish  him 
to  see,  and  which  he  appeared  not  to  notice.  He  did  not 
interrupt  her,  listening  in  a  rapture  and  reverie  of  love, 
which  made  him  willing  to  lie  there  for  hours,  hearing 
no  sound  but  her  dear  voice,  and  seeing  nothing  but  her 
dear  face.  Madame  Lawson's  little  half-hour  proved  to 
be  a  very  long  one  ;  but  neither  of  them  was  conscious 
of  its  length. 


CHAPTER   LXXII. 

BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT. 

MADAME  LAWSON,  who  was  prone  to  avoid  the 
daylight,  which   she    declared    not    worthy    of  its 
name  in  England,  proceeded  homewards  in  the  dusk,  with- 
out meeting  with  any  molestation.     She  had  not  paid  her 
son  and  the  garret  any  visit  since  the  return  of  John  Mor- 
ley  and  Hester  the  night  before  ;  and  Lawson  had  failed  to 
come  down  to  his   workroom,  where   indeed  he  had   been 
but  little   during  the  last  three  months,  though  Mr.  Wal- 
dron  had  continued  to  pay  him  and  his  mother  the  same 
wages  he  had  formerly  received  from  his  master.     Madame 
experienced  no  anxiety  on  his  account.     The  affection  ex- 
isting between   them  was  easy  and  cool  ;  and-  was  made 
pleasant  by  the  natural  amiability  of  the  light-hearted  old 
woman.     She  knew  her  son  to  be  quite  capable  of  taking 
care  of  himself,  and  of  making  himself  happy  by  means  of 
his  favorite  drug.     It  had  never  troubled  her  that  he  should 
indulge  in  the  use  or  abuse  of  opium.     All  men  must  have 
their  little  vice  to  keep  them   virtuous,  was  her  equivocal 
maxim ;    and   she    was    perfectly   content    that    her   son's 
should  be  so  harmless,  and  give  so  little  trouble.    Was  not 
Milord  Waldron  a  hundred  times  more  interesting  for  that 
little  fault  of  his  ?     When  that  poor  little  Madame  Rose 
was  gone  to  the  good  God,  people  would  see  !     Had  not 
she  beheld  with   her  own  eyes  Monsieur  Morley  carrying 
him  as  tenderly  as  if  he   had   been  a   woman,  and  leaning 


BROUGHT  TO    LIGHT.  505 

over  him  with  untiring  soHcitude,  until  he  recovered.  Oh, 
yes  !     Cela  saute  aux  ycux. 

She  ascended  the  long  flight  of  stairs  briskly,  feeling 
nearly  equal  to  the  difficult  feat  of  singing  as  she  mounted. 
No  light  whatever  glimmered  through  the  numerous  chinks 
in  the  door,  Ijy  which  the  fresh  air  was  apt  to  find  incon- 
venient admission.  Good  !  Her  son  was  gone  to  bed  ; 
and  there  would  be  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  lound,  and 
perhaps  say  her  rosary,  for  she  had  had  very  little  time  to 
attend  to  her  soul  of  late.  She  lifted  the  latch,  and  enter- 
ed the  dark  room,  humming  a  merry  little  song.  Probably 
her  son  had  left  the  match-box  and  the  lamp  upon  the  table, 
and  she  groped  her  way  to  it,  stumbling  against  her  chauf- 
ferette,  which  was  in  her  way,  and  muttering  a  tnalheur 
against  it.  Her  fingers  feeling  about  the  small  table  came 
in  contact  with  something  cold,  clammy,  and  motionless. 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  it,  and  found  it  was  a  hand,  which 
neither  stirred,  nor  grew  warm  at  her  close  touch.  An- 
other movement  in  the  dark  of  her  groping  fingers  brought 
them  to  the  bowed  head  of  her  son,  with  the  cold  damp 
brow  resting  upon  the  table.  Then  she  shook  him,  and 
called  loudly  into  his  ear  \  but  he  did  not  answer.  The 
next  moment  she  felt  sure  that  he  was  dead. 

Lawson's  mother  sat  down  in  the  dark  to  think,  not 
caring  to  light  a  candle  now.  She  was  a  foreigner  in  a 
foreign  land  ;  and  only  knew  three  persons  to  whom  she 
could  communicate  this  horrible  surprise.  If  she  were  to 
rush  down  stairs  screaming,  and  making  an  alarm,  she  would 
have  all  the  neighbors  crushing  into  her  room,  to  whom 
she  could  say  nothing,  and  who  could  say  nothing  to  her. 
She  was  sorry  for  her  son  ;  and  a  few  tears  stole  down  her 
smooth  old  face  unseen  by  any  eye.  But  how  did  she 
know  what  the  laws  of  England  would  require  of  her  ?  It 
was  possible,  that  being  a  stranger  or  of  a  different  religion, 

22 


5o6  HESTER  morCey's  promise. 

they  might  demand  the  revenge  of  justice  from  her.  Oh, 
that  she  had  never  quitted  Burgundy  I  What  would  become 
of  her  now  ?    What  was  she  to  do  ? 

After  a  few  minutes'  very  troubled  reflection,  she  decid- 
ed that  she  could  do  nothing  but  go  and  tell  Hester. 
Rose  was  asleep  ;  and  Robert  Waldron's  uesidence  she 
did  not  know.  She  raised  herself  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
as  if  old  age  had  given  her  its  first  unkind  touch.  It  seem- 
ed necessary  now  to  lock  the  garret-door,  lest  any  intruder 
should  go  in  ;  and  with  trembling  fingers  she  took  the  key 
out  of  the  wards  within,  and  put  it  into  the  key-hole  on  the 
outside.  She  had  not  lighted  a  lamp,  or  looked  round  her 
room,  and  she  left  it  in  undisturbed  quiet  and  darkness. 
Then  she  went  down  the  long,  narrow  staircase  slowly, 
and  out  into  the  court,  and  down  the  street,  with  her  ter- 
rible story.  It  was  a  black  shadow  creeping  across  the 
glorified  hour  of  Carl  and  Hester's  betrothal. 

Lawson's  mother  was  about  to  enter  John  Morley's 
house,  when  a  man  who  had  been  loitering  on  the  opposite 
pavement,  strode  quickly  across  the  road,  and  stopped  her. 
She  started  with  a  half-uttered  shriek,  but  Robert  Wal- 
dron's voice  quickly  pacified  her  alarm. 

"Good  evening,  Madame,"  he  said;  "I  was  waiting 
here  to  see  you  coming  out,  or  going  in.  How  are  they  all 
to-night?" 

"  Oh,  Milord  Waldron  !  "  she  cried,  clinging  to  him  en- 
treatingly  ;  "come  with  me,  come  !  He  is  dead,  my  son 
Jean  !  You  know  my  son  ?  I  come  from  finding  him  dead 
and  cold,  and  I  said  I  must  go  and  tell  Hester.  But  you 
will  come,  is  it  not  so.  Milord  Waldron  ? " 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  Robert,  in  a  soothing  tone. 
"  Certainly  I  will  return  with  you,  Madame.  Tell  me 
your  story  tranquilly  as  we  walk  along.  Did  you  say  yoiu 
son  was  dead  ?  " 


BROUGHT   TO    LIGHT.  507 

He  walked  up  the  street  beside  her,  listening  to  her 
breathless  and  incoherent  account  ;  and  thinking  she  w.is 
very  probably  mistaken,  and  that  Lawson's  drugged  sleejj 
was  only  a  little  more  profound  than  usual.  On  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  house  he  procured  a  light,  and  went  on  up  the 
stairs  which  he  had  so  often  trodden  for  Hester's  sake. 
He  entered  the  room,  and  stood  still  for  a  moment  to  look 
about  him.  Lawson  was  sitting  in  the  same  chair  and 
place  where  Hester  had  found  him  the  night  before,  but 
his  face  was  buried  upon  his  arms  on  the  table.  Robert 
put  the  light  down  beside  him,  and  touched  his  hand. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  he  was  dead.  A  faint  scent  of 
landamim  pervaded  the  room,  and  the  box  which  had  held 
his  favorite  drug  lay  open  and  empty  at  his  feet. 

There  was  a  shock  to  Robert  Waldron's  sensitive  tem- 
perament in  this  discovery,  which  formerly  would  iiave 
made  him  eager  to  throw  upon  some  one  else  the  uncom- 
fortable burden.  But  a  great  change,  a  new  birth,  had  been 
effected  in  him.  He  touched  the  dead  hand  again  solemn- 
ly and  reverently  ;  and  then  turned  to  the  forlorn  old  wo 
man,  who  stood  at  his  side,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  gently,  "  yes.  Your  poor  son  is  dead. 
But  be  comforted;  I  will  take  care  of  you.  He  must  have 
died  sleeping;  he  did  not  suffer  much,  and  he  was  no  long- 
er young.  He  was  not  many  years  younger  than  you.  Mad- 
ame." 

"  I  was  seventeen  when  he  was  born,"  answered  his 
mother,  wiping  her  eyes  somev/hat  needlessly.  "Oh,  Mi- 
lord VValdron,  send  me  back  to  Burgundy.  I  wish  you 
would  carry  me  back  to  Burgundy  at  once."' 

"  You  shall  go,"  he  said.  '•  I  will  send  you  back  as 
soon  as  possible.  But  now  you  must  take  a  note  for  me 
♦o  the  doctor.     You  know  Mr.  Grant's  house  ?  " 


508  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  "  ^e  replied  eagerly.  "  I  will  run  ;  ar.r.l 
then  must  I  come  back  here 

"No,"  said  Robert,  seeing  how  much  she  dreaded  it  ; 
"you  may  go  to  Hester;  but  do  not  tell  her  a  word— not 
one  word — to-night." 

Lawson's  mother  did  not  delay  her  departure  and  Rob- 
ert was  soon  left  alone  in  the  room  with  the  dead  man.  He 
scarcely  knew  why  he  had  not  gone  himself  for  Grant  ;  and 
yet  at  the  first  moment  of  discovery  it  had  seemed  wrong 
to  abandon  the  room  again  with  its  solitary  and  lifeless  oc- 
cupant, and  he  could  not  ask  the  frightened  mother  to  stay 
in  it.  It  was  cold  and  dark.  The  hidden  face  of  the 
corpse  was  something  appalling.  Robert  shivered  as  he 
looked  round  him,  and  his  memory  grew  very  busy  with  his 
past  visits  here.  Of  all  the  places  in  the  world,  this  poor 
garret  was  the  one  where  he  had  seen  Hester  oftenest. 
And  now  in  her  stead  there  was  a  silent  corpse,  whose  face 
he  could  not  see,  and  whom  he  shrank  from  touching. 

He  looked,  however,  more  steadfastly  at  the  dead  man, 
and  saw  that  there  had  floated  to  the  bare  floor  at  his  feet 
several  sheets  of  paper,  closely  covered  with  writing.  Rob- 
ert stooped  to  gather  them  together,  and  carried  them  to 
the  light.  They  were  written  in  English,  and  could  not 
be  any  special  communication  to  his  mother.  Rather,  no 
doubt,  they  were  intended  as  some  explanation  of  his  deed. 
The  poor  wretch  might  have  destroyed  himself  intention- 
ally, and  these  lines  would  give  his  reason. 

Standing  at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  with  Lawson's 
corpse  opposite  to  him,  Robert  Waldron  put  the  scattered 
leaves  together,  and  read  their  narrative.  The  first  page 
was  dated  nearly  four  months  back,  on  the  night  when 
John  Morley  fled  from  Little  Aston  ;  and  the  rest  had  been 
written  at  various  times  since,  sometimes  only  a  few  words 
being  inserted  in  trembling  characters,  while  at  others  the 


BROUGHT   TO    LIGHT.  509 

writing  was  clear  and  firm,  and  proceeded  sniootlily,  as  if 
the  writer  had  found  pleasure  in  his  task. 

"  To-night  I,  Jean  Lawson,  begin  to  write  my  confes- 
sion, which  will  clear  all  other  persons  of  blame  concern- 
ing the  events  which  have  happened  in  my  master's 
house.  Nobody  will  ever  know  how  I  have  loved  Hester. 
She  has  been  my  daughter^  my  queen,  my  goddess.  I  re- 
member her  mother,  my  master's  wife,  whose  name  was 
Elinor,  coming  into  my  workroom  one  day.  She  carried 
a  tiny,  white  creature  in  her  arms,  and  she  said,  '  Lawson 
this  is  ray  little  girl,  and  I  wish  everybody  in  the  world  to 
love  my  baby.'  She  smiled  upon  me  like  an  angel  ;  and 
I  made  a  vow  on  the  bended  knees  of  my  soul,  that  that 
little  child  should  be  dearer  to  me  than  any  other  creature 
in  heaven  or  earth.     After  that  my  master's  wife  died. 

"  My  master  was  too  much  wrapt  up  in  his  grief  to  take 
notice  of  his  young  child.  He  left  her  in  the  hands  of  a 
careless  nurse,  and  I  used  to  hear  the  baby's  cries  up  into 
my  workroom.  Then  I  would  run  down  and  carry  her 
away  with  me,  and  the  nurse  was  content  enough.  I  made 
her  a  cradle  of  an  old  box,  which  I  swung  to  the  beams  by 
ropes,  and  there  the  baby  slept  sometimes,  while  I  sang 
and  hammered  away  at  m.y  work.  She  soon  learned  to 
love  the  red  and  gold  bindings,  and,  as  soon  as  she  was 
old  enough  she  would  sit  for  hours  at  the  end  of  the  press, 
watching  me  lay  on  the  gold  leaf,  and  color  the  margins. 
I  taught  her  the  ABC. 

"  My  master  was  getting  rich  very  fast.  Well,  that  was 
good  ;  that  was  what  I  wanted.  There  was  not  much 
spent  in  the  house ;  and  every  year  we  put  by  a  good  large 
sum.  I  worked  early  and  late,  and  never  asked  for  more 
wages.  Other  masters  came  and  said,  I  will  give  you 
twice,  three  times  as  much,  but  1  never  dreamt  of  leaving 
John  Morley.     We  were  gathering  a  dot  for  Hester,  that 


5IO  HESTER    MORLEY'S    PROMISE. 

she  might  be  rich,  and  marry  well.  She  was  seven 
years  old  ;  I  was  forty-three  ;  and  my  master  was  thirty- 
five.  We  both  worked  hard  and  spent  little.  Good  !  she 
would  be  very  rich  by  the  time  when  we  must  look  out  for 
a  husband. 

"  If  I  shut  my  eyes  now  I  see  Hester  again,  as  she  was 
wheti  she  was  seven  years  old.  She  began  to  take  thought 
for  her  father,  for  the  house,  for  me.  Already  she  was  a 
little  woman.  Sometimes  she  laughed,  and  made  me 
laugh ;  but  she  was  never  merry  and  mischievous  like 
other  children.  She  had  grown  up  too  much  with  elderly 
people,  who  were  always  grave  and  often  unhappy.  But 
the  child  was  not  unhappy,  that  1  swear.  There  was  no 
truth  in  that  plea  of  my  master's  for  bringing  another 
woman  into  his  wife's  place. 

"  About  this  time  I  began  to  see  Hester's  mother, 
whether  in  vision  or  reality  I  cannot  tell.  But  she  came 
now  and  then,  a  faint,  bright,  thin  appearance,  as  of  shining 
mist,  with  her  face  in  it,  and  sometimes  a  hand,  with  the 
finger  pointing.  I  saw  it  as  often  by  day  as  by  night. 
Hester  could  never  see  it,  though  she  would  go  so  near  as 
So  touch  the  shining  mist.  I  did  not  know  whether  to  like 
ais  appearance  or  not ;  but  I  grew  so  accustomed  to  it, 
Uiat  I  always  worked  better  when  it  was  there.  Moreover 
i  helped  me.  If  I  doubted  what  device  to  work  upon  my 
.^mding,  the  finger  pointed  out  one,  which  always  proved 
to  be  the  best.  I  suppose  nobody  in  all  the  country  round 
could  do  work  like  mine.  But  if  I  had  taken  higher  wages 
from  my  master  that  shining  cloud  would  have  vanished 
away.  I  have  seen  Hester,  in  her  play,  touch  the  shadowy 
hand  without  knowing  it. 

"  But  one  day  I  went  down  to  my  master's  room  with 
some  finished  work,  and  there  was  a  girl  with  him,  a 
laughing,  giddy,  flaunting  girl,  who   was   standing  close 


BROUGHT   TO    LIGHT.  511 

beside  him.  I  felt  all  at  once  a  horrible  dread  and  hatred 
creep  through  me.  Something  said,  either  in  my  ear,  or 
only  in  my  heart,  'That  woman  will  be  John  Morley's 
second  wife  ! '  They  had  not  seen  me,  and  I  stole  away 
with  the  cold  sweat  upon  my  face.  After  that  the  appear- 
ance was  as  of  a  woman  in  great  sorrow,  who  looked  at 
me  with  trouble  in  her  eyes.     But  what  could  I  do  ? 

"It  was  a  dreadful  misfortune  to  happen.  If  my  mas- 
ter had  died,  there  was  a  little  fortune  for  Hester,  and  I 
would  have  managed  to  carr}'  on  the  business  for  her.  But 
another  wife,  and  other  children,  may  be  !  I  saw  Hester 
about  to  become  a  step-child,  a  forlorn  little  drudge,  for 
gotten  and  neglected  by  her  father. 

"  I  loathed  that  woman  ;  I  abhorred  her.  I  hated  the 
jingle  of  her  piano,  and  her  loud  singing,  which  reached 
me  up  in  my  quiet  room,  and  scared  away  the  shining 
vision.  Then  the  money  kept  flying  like  sparks  from  an 
anvil.  She  must  have  her  silks  and  satins  and  laces,  and 
a  drawing-room,  and  more  servants.  My  master  was  be- 
fooled by  her.  I  saw  Hester  would  come  to  poverty.  She 
was  not  unkind  to  her ;  she  even  made  believe  to  love  her, 
and  whenever  the  child  came  to  see  me,  we  heard  her 
shrill,  hateful  voice  calling,  'Hester,  Helty  !'  Perhaps  it 
was  because  she  no  longer  played  there,  that  her  mother 
never  came  to  my  workroom. 

"But  I  saw  her  once  again,  and  I  told  Hester  of  it.  I 
saw  her  sitting  by  my  fire,  with  her  head  bowed  down  upon 
her  hands,  as  one  in  very  sore  trouble  of  mind. 

"  Then  my  master's  second  wife  brought  disgrace  upon 
him. 

"  I  tliought  I  could  not  hate  her  more  than  I  had  done, 
but  I  hated  her  a  hundred-fold  more  after  that.  I  sa\*  my 
master  the  night  after  she  left  him  go  into  Hester's  room 
in  the  dead  of  the  night,  ready  to  take  her  life  and  his  own. 


512  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

I  had  staid  in  the  house  for  very  fear  of  that,  to  save  the 
child.  I  remember  striking  a  boy  a  heavy  blow  for  saying 
that  Hester  was  her  daughter. 

"  Ten  years  or  so  after  that  I  saw  the  man  who  had 
been  our  ruin,  prowling  about  our  house,  and  I  stole  back- 
to  my  room  for  one  of  the  press-pins.  He  walked  up  and 
down,  with  his  head  bent,  until  he  came  close  to  where  I 
stood  in  the  entrance  of  the  side-passage,  and  I  struck  him, 
as  I  would  have  set  my  heel  upon  any  venomous  snake. 
He  fell  in  an  instant,  and  I  hurried  home.  My  mother  was 
come  to  live  with  me  then.  I  cleaned  the  press-pin  with 
ashes,  and  carried  it  back  the  next  morning.  I  was  not  al- 
together sorry  that  I  had  missed  killing  him. 

"  But  I  missed  killing  her,  too.  My  hand  betrayed  me 
a  second  time.  It  came  about  in  this  way.  I  was  stay- 
ing late  on  the  Saturday  night,  and  my  master  was  gone 
out  of  the  house,  when  all  at  once  I  heard  the  old  jingle 
of  the  piano  coming  up  to  my  room.  I  knew  it  could  be 
no  one  else  save  her.  I  had  waited  for  this  hour  many 
years.  I  took  my  press-pin  again,  and  crept  down  stairs 
through  the  old  printing  rooms  into  the  other  part  of  the 
house.  The  drawing-room  door  was  ajar,  and  I  looked  in. 
She  was  sitting  at  her  piano,  with  her  back  towards  me, 
and  she  did  not  hear  me  go  in.  I  thought  she  was  dead 
after  I  struck  her  ;  and  I  felt  glad  that  I  had  revenged 
Hester,  my  master,  and  myself     Then  I  went  home. 

"  Hester  came  in  just  now.  They  are  come  back,  her 
and  her  father,  and  are  going  down  to  their  own  house, 
though  they  know  she  is  there.  I  shall  never  enter  it 
again.  Sometimes  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  go, 
as  my  mother  wishes  me,  to  Burgundy  ;  but  then  I  have 
no  money.  We  are  all  poor  ;  my  master,  Hester,  and  my- 
self.    I  am    writing  this  to  explain   to  my  master,  and  to 


BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT.  513 

any  other  persons  he  may   think  fit  to  show  it  to,  how  all 
these  things  have  come  about. 

"  I  did  everything  for  the  sake  of  Hester,  who  has  been 
as  the  apple  of  my  eye  ever  since  I  saw  her  fir.st,  a  small, 
white  creature,  in  her  mother's  arms." 
22* 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

CHECKMATED. 

ROBERT  WALDRON  read  the  papers  before  him 
with  an  aching  heart.  Where  was  his  punishment 
to  cease  ?  At  what  other  points  in  his  career  was  the  ever- 
widening  circle  of  his  early  sin  to  reach  him  ?  He  had 
never  suspected  Lawson's  enmity  all  these  years  ;  and  now 
it  had  wrought  so  strongly,  being  baffled  and  thrown  back 
upon  itself,  that  it  had  driven  him  to  suicide.  The  sound 
of  Grant's  foot  upon  the  stairs  was  welcome,  yet  when  he 
entered,  Robert  could  not  look  upon  him  in  the  face.  He 
only  spoke  in  a  broken  and  smothered  voice. 

"The  poor  fellow  has  destroyed  himself,"  he  said. 

"No,"  answered  Grant,  almost  cheerfully,  "  I  have  been 
expecting  this  any  time  for  the  last  twelve  months.  He 
consulted  me  for  a  heart-disease,  for  which  he  was  using 
opium,  the  only  relief  he  could  have.  I  knew  he  could  not 
last  long  ;  but  it  is  possible  he  may  have  met  with  a  little 
excitement  which  hastened  the  end.  This  is  no  case  of 
suicide." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  cried  Robert.  Grant's  words  were  an 
untold  relief  to  him.  If  they  only  proved  correct  when  he 
came  to  examine  the  man,  he  would  take  heart,  and  go  for- 
ward bravely  to  meet  whatever  lay  beyond  him  in  the 
future. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  my  house,  and  wait  for  me  there," 
«aid  Grant,  and  Robert  took  his  advice  willingly.     Grant 


CHECKMATED.  513 

(bllowed  hi.-n  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  and  verified  his 
statement.  Lawson's  opium  box  had  been  emptied,  but 
that  had  not  caused  his  death,  which  was  the  result  of  an 
access  of  the  disease,  long  anticipated  by  them  boih.  Rob 
erlgave  him  his  confession  to  read,  and  Grant  ran  through 
It  rapidly. 

"  Strange  !  "  he  said.  "  Strange  that  this  never  occur- 
red to  me,  at  least !  I  felt  r-eluctant  to  lay  the  sin  at  John 
Morley's  door  ;  yet  I  missed  the  clue  from  not  having 
known  Lawson  long  enough.  Shall  we  make  this  paper 
public } " 

"  To  what  end  .'' "  asked  Robert.  "  Scarcely  any  person 
besides  ourselves  knows  anything  of  the  past.  It  was  writ- 
ten for  John  Morley,  and  we  will  give  it  to  him.  Let  him 
do  what  he  likes  with  it." 

"And  the  mother.'"'  suggested  Grant. 

"  I  will  send  her  back  to  Burgundy,"  he  answered  :  "  a 
small  pension  will  make  her  happy.  Strange  tales  will  she 
have  to  tell  of  English  life  !  " 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly,  but  went  home  with  a  heart  the 
lighter  because  it  had  missed  having  a  great  increase  to  its 
burden.  Early  the  next  morning  he  presented  himself  at 
John  Morley's  door,  which  was  opened  to  him  by  Lawson's 
mother,  her  face  somewhat  troubled,  and  the  fine  wrinkles 
about  her  eyes  strongly  marked,  but  bearing  no  light  of 
malice   or  cunning  about  them. 

"  Well,"  was  all  she  could  utter,  "  my  son  ?" 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Robert ;  "  you  have  not  spoken  a 
word  to  Hester }  " 

"  -Vot  one  word  ! "  replied  madame.  "  The  young  cure 
was  with  her  when  I  returned  ;  alone,  monsieur,  absolutely 
alone  !  These  English  manners  do  not  please  me.  Bah  I 
The  little  one   permitted   him   to  kiss   her  before  he  went 


5 1 '5  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

I  thought  Milord  Waldron  will  be  discontent;  but  they  did 
not  see  me.     Then  my  son  is  veritably  dead  ?  " 

"  You  shall  go  home  to  Ecqueraonville  at  once,"  re- 
plied Robert.  "  I  will  send  my  servant  with  you  to  start 
from  Folkestone  ;  and  I  intend  to  allow  you  a  small  pen- 
sion." 

"  Seigneur  !  "  cried  the  old  woman,  clapping  her  hands 
together,  "  that  is  good  !  I  shall  live  again  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  sing  my  little  songs  to  those  who  love  them  ! 
He  was  not  a  bad  son,  monsieur,  and  I  grieve  for  him  ; 
but  it  was  very  triste  here  in  England,  and  he  was  morose, 
sombre.  If  mademoiselle  marries  the  cure,  I  shall  have 
no  more  pleasure  in  England,  Wherefore  do  you  not  per- 
sist in  marrying  her  ?  " 

Robert  made  no  answer,  for  Hester  was  passing 
:hrough  the  entrance,  and  came  forward  to  speak  to  him. 
There  was  a  new  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  color  on  her 
grave  face,  which  he  understood  well.  He  gave  her  the 
packet  for  her  father,  and  then  went  away,  for  the  hour 
was  drawing  near  when  the  quiet  funeral  of  his  little  child 
would  start  from  John  Morley's  door. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  same  day  that  Carl,  who  had 
been  walking  with  Robert  through  the  park  towards  As- 
ton Court,  happened  to  encounter  Miss  Waldron  on  his  re- 
turn. They  met  almost  upon  the  spot  where  he  had  first 
spoken  of  his  love  for  Hester.  He  recollected  it  distinct- 
ly, and  her  conduct  afterwards,  which  had  effected  his  sep- 
aration from  his  first  church.  But  Carl's  charity  was  of 
the  order  which  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things,  and 
never  faileth.  She  had  once  been  his  friend,  and  to  her 
he  had  often  poured  out  his  heart,  when  it  was  overcharg- 
ed. A  halo  was  about  her  still,  for  the  sake  of  past  times, 
and,  let  it  be  owned,  for  the  sake  of  the  hopeless  love  she 
had  borne  for  him,  which  had  perhaps  been  the  real  spring 


CHECKMATED.  517 

of  all  her  after  unkindness.  He  approached  her  with  an 
outstretched  hand,  which  she  feigned  not  to  see. 

"  Mr.  Bramvvell,"  she  said,  coldly,  '•  you  have  taken 
vour  own  course,  I  believe.  I  warned  you  against  Hester 
Horley ;  I  warned  you  in  ample  time,  but  you  followed 
yotir  own  rash  and  unregenerate  nature.  I  trust  you  may 
never  repent  of  it." 

"  I  never  shall  repent  of  it,"  answered  Carl,  warmly. 
"  Thank  God,  Hester  will  be  my  wife  as  soon  as  1  have  a 
home  ready  for  her  !  But  let  us  be  friends  again,  Miss 
Waldron,  though  I  neglected  your  advice.  Your  brother 
and  I  are  friends  at  last ;  your  father  loves  me  and  Hes- 
ter ;  do  not  let  there  be  coldness  and  estrangement  be- 
tween us.  We  may  see  each  other  often.  When  we  do 
meet,  let  us  meet  as  friends." 

"  There  is  no  unfriendliness  on  my  part,"  said  Miss 
Waldron,  frigidly.  "  With  due  consideration  of  the  differ- 
ence in  our  position,  I  am  quite  willing  to  meet  you  on  a 
proper  footing.  Hester  also.  I  have  shown  her  many 
Mndnesses,  and  no  conduct  of  hers  can  efface  the  remem- 
brance of  them  from  my  memory.  You  may  give  my  best 
wishes  to  her,  iNIr.  Bramwell." 

She  walked  on  with  a  stately  step,  leaving  Carl  in  as 
uncomfortable  and  irritated  a  frame  of  mind  as  was  possi- 
ble to  him.  But  her  heart  was  swelling  with  mortification 
and  disappointment.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  of  Hes- 
ter married  to  Carl,  eloquent  and  popular,  with  a  growing 
fame,  while  she  remained  single  and  obscure  in  the  retire- 
ment of  Little  Aston.  She  ran  through  the  list  of  chances 
which,  in  the  pride  of  her  youth  and  position,  she  had  cast 
away  ;  and  she  sighed  bitterly  over  them.  Only  one  re- 
mained to  her  •  and  that  was  David  Scott.  True,  he  was 
very  deaf,  so  deaf  that  she  could  not  whisper  gentle  hints 
into  his  ear  ;  but  he  looked  ai.  her  very  significantly      He 


5i8  HESTER  morley's  promise. 

was  a  good  preacher,  moreover,  and  sooner  or  later  would 
make  a  mark,  as  Dr.  Herve}'  assured  her.  With  her  aid, 
what  height  might  he  not  attain  ?  She  gained  her  room, 
and  deliberated  long  upon  the  question.  Then  she  reach- 
ed out  her  desk,  selected  the  paper  which  bore  the  crest 
of  her  family,  and  wrote  the  following  epistle: 

"  My  very  dear  Friend, — Though  our  friendship  has 
reached  a  point  when  I  might  well  address  you  by  your 
Christian  name,  my  pen  still  refuses  to  write  it.  I  feel  as 
if  I  must  receive  your  sanction  for  so  endearing  a  famil- 
iarity. Yet  David  is  a  very  dear  name  to  me.  I  wonder 
if  men  are  as  susceptible  to  the  dread  of  making  too  close 
advances  as  women  like  myself  are .-'  I  can  very  well 
imagine  that  when  a  young  man,  however  worthy,  looks 
up  to  a  woman  who  occupies  a  prominent  position,  either 
for  her  rank,  her  wealth,  or  her  piety,  he  may  say  to  him- 
self, '  Ah !  such  a  being  is  not  for  me  !  '  The  less  worthy 
of  your  sex  are  more  adventurous.  Under  a  pretext  of 
friendship  Carl  Bramwell  advanced  so  near  to  me  that  he 
had  well  nigh  gained  his  point,  had  not  the  snare  been 
broken,  and  I  had  escaped.  How  thankful  I  am  now  that 
he  did  not  win  upon  me  by  his  specious  eloquence  !  I 
never  knew  till  of  late  the  difference  between  real  and 
fictitious  merit.  Since  I  have  known  you  my  eyes  have 
been  opened  indeed !  Your  last  letter  lies  before  me : 
every  word  in  it  a  precious  and  polished  gem  ;  they  come 
from  your  heart  to  my  heart. 

"I  wonder  if  you  can  understand  that  we  are  equals. 
If  I  possess  advantages  denied  to  you,  on  the  other  hand 
Providence  has  bestowed  upon  you  gifts  mysteriously 
withheld  from  me.  I  acknowledge  this.  Dear  David, 
your  intrinsic  merit  makes  you  too  lowly  in  your  own  eyes. 
You  could  never  be  guilty  of  the  presumption  of  Carl 
Bramwell  ;  yet  it  would  be  no  presumption  in  you.  You 
are  the  true  gold  ;  he  is  only  the  glittering  bauble.  Oh, 
I  am  afraid  you  will  misunderstand  me !  Shall  I  tear 
up  this  letter  which  I  have  written  with  a  throbbing  heart 
and  tearful  eyes  }  No.  You  may  still  be  saying  to  your- 
self, '  Such  a  being  is  not  for  me  ! '     You  would  be  a  helo 


CHECKMATED.  5T9 

indeed  to  me  on  the  upward  and  onward  path.  How  I 
s'lnuld  lean  upon  you !  How  I  would  assist  you  to  the 
best  of  my  poor  abilities  !  My  father  has  a  great  regard  for 
you.  He  asked  me — wt-— the  other  da)',  why  you  did  not 
marry.  I  could  give  him  no  satisfactory  reply.  Shall  I 
ever  be  able  to  do  so  ? 

"  It  would  never  strike  your  disinterested  mind  to 
inquire  into  my  worldly  circumstances.  If  I  should  ever 
marry  without  my  father's  approbation,  I  should  even  then 
be  blessed  with  ;^5oo  a  year  in  my  own  right.  But  my 
father  has  often  urged  me  to  select  a  partner  for  life,  and 
leaves  my  choice  unbiased.  Until  now  I  could  not  make 
up  my  mind.  It  is  made  up  now.  I  shall  marry  but  one 
being,  or  remain  for  ever  single.  If  you  wish  to  know  his 
name,  I  will  tell  you  in  my  next  letter. 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  you  will  misunder- 
stand me!  I  shall  await  your  reply  in  great  agitation. 
Do  not  prolong  it,  my  very  dear  friend.  Send  me  but  a 
word,  a  line,  by  the  bearer. 

"  Yours  for  ever, 

"Sophia  W." 

Miss  Waldron  was  satisfied  with  her  effusion,  and  slept 
soundly  after  it.  In  the  morning  she  despatched  her 
missive  by  a  footman,  who  received  orders  that  the  car- 
riage was  to  take  him  and  his  weighty  packet  to  the  lodg- 
ings of  Mr.  Scott,  and  wait  until  an  answer  was  ready. 
She  partly  hoped  that  he  would  catch  the  hint,  and  return 
to  her  in  the  carriage ;  but  only  a  short  note  was  brought 
bnck.  She  opened  it,  and  read  it  with  unutterable 
emotions. 

"Dear  Miss  Waldron, — I  understand  you  quite  well. 
Unluckily   I    am   engaged  to  a    cousin   in   Glasgow,  who 
would  not  give  me  up,  I  am  sure.     I  shall  keep  your  let- 
ters as  a  mark  of  your  esteem.     Believe  me, 
"Yours  faithfully, 

"  David  Scott." 


520  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

David  Scott  was  wise  in  his  generation.  No  troubls^ 
disturbed  his  relations  with  his  church  ;  and  though  Miss 
Waldron  was  distant,  she  was  always  deferential.  He 
married  his  cousin  in  due  time,  and  they  were  received  as 
formal  visitors  at  Aston  Court.  Miss  Waldron  continued 
to  shed  a  bright  and  unwearied  light  upon  the  little  church 
at  Little  Aston. 


i 


CHAPTER    LXXIV. 

LAST  WORDS. 

HESTER'S  sorrow  for  Lawson  was  very  real,  but  il 
hung  over  her  present  happiness  only  as  a  thin 
cloud  shadows  a  bright  sky.  They  told  her  that  his  sud- 
den death  had  been  long  impending  ;  and  though  they  did 
not  show  her  the  confession  he  had  written,  Carl  said  he  had 
owned  to  being  guilty  of  those  acts  of  violence  and  revenge 
which  they  had  all  attributed  to  her  father.  Carl  had 
still  a  few  days  to  stay  at  Little  Aston,  days  of  a  quiet  but 
profound  gladness  ;  and  then  he  went  back  to  his  charge  in 
London,  whom  he  astonished  by  a  happy  and  buoyant 
eloquence  in  his  sermons  which  they  had  not  remarked  in 
them  before. 

Rose  lingered  through  the  winter,  dying  so  slowly  and 
peacefully  that  it  could  scarcely  be  called  death — "  the 
hours  gliding  by  with  down  upon  their  feet."  A  gleam  of 
her  old  light-heartedness  returned  now  and  then,  with  a 
pathetic  beauty  in  it;  the  feebleness  of  her  smiles,  and  the 
faint  ripple  of  laughter  from  her  lips  smote  painfully  upon 
John  Morley's  spirit.  Yet  he  knew  it  was  best  for  her  to 
go  Some  lives  cannot  blossom  and  bear  fruit  until  they 
aie  transplanted  into  more  genial  climes.  She  was  too 
weak  a  creature  to  work  any  work  worthy  of  repentance, 
such  as  a  stronger  woman  may  do,  who  has  fallen  even 
lower  than  she  had  done.  It  was  well  for  him  to  shield 
and  cherish  her,   as  she  descended   with  slow,  sure  steps 


522  HESTER   MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

down  to  the  portal  through  which  she  must  pass  alone. 
But  he  could  have  done  nothing  else  ;  and  he  thanks  God 
for  the  great  boon  granted  to  him. 

"  Are  you  very  sorry  that  I  must  die  ?  "  she  asked  one 
day,  with  wistful  eyes  and  voice,  when  her  time  was  almost 
ended.  "  Would  you  wish  me  to  live,  ard  grow  strong 
again  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said,  his  heart  swelling  with  great  pity,  yet 
truthful  to  her,  for  truth  was  kindest. 

Rose  turned  away  her  face  from  him  and  the  light,  but 
he  saw  a  quiver  of  pain  tremble  upon  it. 

"  My  child."  he  said,  very  tenderly,  "  there  will  be  no 
sin  there  ;  and  '  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away.'  Tt  is 
a  good  thing  for  you  to  be  taken  out  of  the  world.  But  is 
there  anything  you  desire,  anything  you  can  wish  to  ask  of 
me,  which  you  shrink  from  asking  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  a  sob. 

"Do  you  not  wish,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower  and  more 
tender  voice,  "  to  see  him,  Robert,  once  more,  before  you 
die?" 

"  No,"  she  repeated,  opening  her  blue  eyes,  and  look- 
ing into  his  face  "like  a  child;  "Why  should  I?  I  have 
almost  forgotten  him.  He  never  comes  into  my  thoughts 
now.  Let  Hester  tell  him,  if  she  will,  that  I  have  forgot- 
ten him, — the  best  thing  I  can  do." 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  this,  when  he  was  watching 
her  alone  in  the  first  quiet  dawn  of  a  spring  morning,  that 
she  called  him  to  her  side,  with  a  sharp,  quick  tone,  which 
told  him  that  the  last  moment  was  come.  All  the  house 
was  silent  with  that  peculiar  atmosphere  of  silence  which 
comes  with  the  night,  but  which  is  more  felt  during  the 
solemn  and  irresistible  approach  of  light  to  the  world. 
John  Morley  was  alone  with  the  wife  whom  he  had  so  pas- 
sionately  loved.     He   bent  over  her   with   a    bitter  pang 


LAST   WORDS.  523 

piercing  him  to  the  heart,  yet  with  gratitude  and  courage 
She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  the  last  time. 

''  You  forgive  me  fully,"  she  whispered,  "  as  fully  as 
God  forgives .-'  " 

"  As  fully  as  God  forgives  !  "  he  repeated. 

"  Kiss  me,''  she  said,  "kiss  my  lips,  as  you  kissed  my 
child  when  she  was  dying."' 

John  Morley  bent  his  face  to  hers,  and  laid  a  long,  sol- 
emn, agonized  kiss  upon  her  lips  ;  and  when  he  lifted  up  his 
head,  he  saw  that  she  had  gone  from  him  fore\er. 

Rose  died  early  in  March,  and  before  the  end  of  April 
John  Morley  and  Hester  left  Little  Aston  altogether,  taking 
with  them  but  few  of  their  poor  household  goods,  except  the 
great  chair  in  which  Hester's  mother  had  died,  the  volumes 
Lawson  had  bound  for  her  when  she  was  a  child,  and  John 
Morley's  favorite  books.  Robert  Waldron  and  Carl  had 
chosen  a  house  for  them  in  London,  and  Annie  had  been 
there  for  a  fortnight  to  superintend  the  furnishing  of  it.  It 
was  a  sunny  house,  looking  upon  a  square  where  the  lime- 
trees  were  just  opening  their  leaf-buds,  and  two  or  three 
chestnut-trees  spreading  their  first  broad  leaflets  to  the 
spring  light  and  breeze  ;  a  rural  home  compared  to  the 
gloomy  decayed  old  house  in  Little  Aston.  Mr.  Waldron 
had  procured  a  situation  for  John  Morley  as  librarian,  with 
a  salary  of  ^300  a  year  ;  but  this  new  house  was  suited  to 
an  income  fully  twice  that  sum.  It  was  within  a  pleasant 
distance  of  Carl's  chapel.  The  arrangements  within  were 
altogether  those  of  a  new  household,  consisting  of  other 
members  besides  Hester  and  her  father.  There  was  a 
room,  srill  empty  and  unfurnished,  which  would  make  a 
good  study  by-and-by.  Hester  understood  it  very  well, 
though  nothing  had  been  said  to  her  on  the  subject.  This 
was  Carl's  home,  which  she  was  to  occupy  a  few  months 
yet  without  him.  out  of  regard  to  her  father's  new  grief 


524  HESTER    MORLEY'S   PROMISE. 

She  would  have  time  to  grow  at  home  in  it,  to  give  to  it 
the  impress  of  her  own  taste,  to  make  it  more  and  more 
ready  for  him  to  come  to  it ;  and  then — 

The  day  after  she  and  her  father  had  entered  their  new 
dwelling,  Robert  Waldron  called,  and  Hester  went  to  re- 
ceive him  alone.  She  had  not  seeti  him  since  the  morning 
she  had  stood  beside  him,  looking  down  on  the  sweet  pale 
face  of  his  dead  child.  He  appeared  much  older,  but 
there  was  an  expression  of  goodness  and  earnestness  upon 
his  face  which  had  not  been  seen  there  in  former  times. 
He  smiled  gravely  but  tenderly  upon  her,  as  she  advanced 
to  meet  him  with  some  shyness  and  hesitation  in  her  man- 
ner. The  hand  she  extended  to  him  bore  his  ring,  which 
she  had  slipped  on  her  finger  unthinkingly  as  she  came 
across  it  in  her  unpacking.  Robert  kept  her  hand  in  his, 
looking  down  upon  it,  and  upon  her  face,  with  an  air  of  min- 
gled pain  and  pleasure. 

"Thank  you  for  wearing  my  ring,  dear  Hester,"  he  said, 
"  Carl  knows  of  it." 

"  I  have  not  told  him,"  she  answered,  with  a  hasty  blush. 

"But  I  have,"  he  continued,  smiling;  "he  knows  it  is 
only  a  love  which  might  have  been,  and  he  do^  not  gaidge 
me  the  shadow  when  he  has  the  substance.  Hester,  I  have 
become  a  member  of  his  church." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  she  said,  with  tea;  s  in  her  clear, 
frank  eyes. 

"  We  shall  be  friends,"  Robert  went  on,  "  we  three,  as 
long  as  we  live.  Carl  will  let  me  come  here  as  familiarly 
as  if  I  were  his  brother  ai^d  vours  ;  and  I  shall  be  here  very 
often.  Do  you  know,  dear  friend,  that  I  have  been  invited 
by  my  father's  old  constituency  to  represent  them  in  Par- 
liament.'' I  shall  live  in  London  more  than  half  my  time, 
and  so  not  be  very  far  from  you.  Do  you  think  my  visits 
will  be  a  trouble  to  your  father  ?  " 


LAST   WORDS.  525 

"  I  am  sure  they  will  not,  after  a  while,"  said  Hester. 

"  Does  he  grieve  very  much  for  Rose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  not  as  he  did  before.  He 
is  cheerful  now,  and  takes  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  every- 
thing that  happens  to  us  both.  He  has  been  all  over  this 
new  house  with  me,  noticing  everything,  and  he  is  more 
than  content ;  he  is  glad  to  be  away  from  the  old  place, 
and  to  be  beginning  a  new  life.     It  is  a  new  life  to  him." 

"  Did  she  leave  no  message  for  me  ? "'  said  Robert, 
after  a  pause. 

"  None,"  she  replied,  '•  only  that  she  had  almost  forgot- 
ten you,  and  that  it  was  best  so." 

"  Poor  Rose !  poor  little  Hetty  !  "  he  said,  as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself  only.  "Yet  inaeed  I  was  little  more  than 
a  boy." 

He  could  not  altogether  relinquish  his  old  plea,  which 
had  possessed  truth  enough  to  give  him  some  solace  in 
former  times.  He  looked  back  from  a  calm  height  upon 
all  the  past,  and  could  trace  the  hard  and  crooked  paths 
into  which  he  had  strayvl  Hf»  had  escaped  from  them, 
but  the  mire  and  clay  clung  to  mm  even  yet,  and  he  stood 
solitary  upon  the  height  he  had  gained  at  last.  "  Hester," 
he  said,  "  my  father  promises  himself  to  be  present  at  your 
wedding  in  the  autumn." 

"And  Miss  Waldron  ?"  exclaimed  Hester,  in  alarm. 

"  No,  not  Miss  Waldron,"  answered  Robert,  smiling ; 
"  certainly  not.  Do  you  think  my  sister  would  come  ? 
No  ;  my  father  and  I  will  be  there,  if  you  will  give  us  leave." 

"  Yes,  come,"  said  Hester,  heartily  ;  and  theo,  remem- 
bering herself,  was  covered  with  confusion  so  -pretty  and 
delightful,  that  Robert  Waldron  could  scarcely  restrain  a 
sigh  of  bitterness  and  regret. 

"  And  poor  old  Lawson's  mother  ?  "  said  Hester,  in  a 
tone  of  questioning 


526  HESTER    MOKLEY  S    PROMISE. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  her  the  other  day."  answered  Rob- 
ert; "she  is  enchanted  to  be  at  home  again  in  Burgundy. 
Hester,  I  have  the  mark  of  Lawson's  blow  yet ;  I  shall 
carry  it  to  my  grave." 

He  lifted  the  hair  which  fell  over  his  temples,  and  push- 
ed it  back.  There  was  a  seam  and  scar  still  upon  the  skin, 
and,  as  he  said,  it  would  be  there  till  he  died.  It  was  but 
an  emblem  and  a  symbol  of  the  inner  and  spiritual  wound, 
healed  indeed,  and  with  as  much  of  the  pain  taken  away 
as  could  ever  be  removed. in  this  life  ;  but  a  wound  still,  a 
blemish,  a  brand  upon  the  beauty  of  his  future  life.  Carl 
had  come  into  the  room  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  with  Hes- 
ter upon  it ;  and  she,  putting  her  hand  into  his  with  a  ten- 
der clasp,  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  scar. 


TXe.   SMSK 


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